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SHE RAISED THE VIOLIN TO HER SHOULDER.” 


1 


Seraph 


THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE" 



MRS. C. V. JAMISON 

Author of "Lady Jane" “ Toinette's Philips etc., etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

FRANK T. MERRILL 



BOSTON, U.S.A. 

W. A. WILDE & COMPANY 
25 Bromfield Street 



Copyright, 1896, 

By W. a. Wilde & Company. 
All rights reserved. 


SERAPH. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Uncle ’Nidas . 







PAOB 

9 

II. 

The Little Violiniste 







16 

III. 

Petite Maman . 







22 

IV. 

A Little Wharf Rat 







29 

V. 

Marc 







35 

VI. 

Bon-bons from Paris 







42 

VII. 

Their Little History 







50 

VIII. 

Cousin Franz . 







58 

IX. 

A German Interior 







65 

X. 

Friends All 







74 

XL 

An Appreciative Audience 







84 

XII. 

Two Customers 







91 

XIII. 

A Disappointment . 







99 

XIV. 

Madame Croizet’s Generosity 




- 


108 

XV. 

Without Wings 







116 

XVI. 

The Wounded Bird 







125 

XVII. 

Peach Blossoms 







133 

XVIII. 

Seraph’s Secret 







141 


5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XIX. 

Seraph’s Professor 


• 


t 


. 

PAGE 

150 

XX. 

A Dilemma 







167 

XXL 

Seraph’s Fete 


• 




• 

165 

XXII. 

A Double Success 






• 

173 

XXIII. 

A New Life . 






• 

180 

XXIV. 

Komeo’s Confession 






• 

187 

XXV. 

The White Ship . 






• 

199 

XXVI. 

In Danger 






. 

206 

XXVII. 

A Little Hero 






• 

215 

XXVIII. 

At Madame St. Maxent’s 






. 

223 

XXIX. 

The Revolt of Madge 






. 

231 

XXX. 

Found .... 






• 

240 

XXXI. 

In the Fold . 



• 



. 

248 

XXXII. 

Maurice and Shylock . 



• 



. 

255 

XXXIII. 

A Little Romance 



• 



• 

266 

XXXIV. 

Preparation . 



• 



. 

274 

XXXV. 

A Soiree Musicale 



• 



• 

281 

XXXVI. 

A Letter from Paris . 







293 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

She raised the violin to her shoulder ” . Frontispiece 18 

^ Won’t you come in and look at the pretty things ? ’ ” . 48 

Madame St. Maxent visits Monsieur Nardi’s shop . . 94 

Seraph grew very fond of the Cremona ”... 167 

As they entered, a pleasant-faced, well-dressed woman 
came forward, bowing, smiling ” . . . . 244 


7 


V 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


I. 

UNCLE ’nIDAS. 

nV/TONSIEUR LEONIDAS NARDI had just re- 
turned home to New Orleans, to his little 
bookshop on St. Louis Street, after an absence of 
several months. 

He had made the journey of his life, the journey 
he had dreamed of during his boyhood, when he 
had stolen a few moments from an exacting mas- 
ter to glance into the books of travel that helped 
fill the shelves in the little bookstore where, from 
a small, ill-paid, ill-fed drudge, he had grown to 
manhood, and where he had acquired the knowl- 
edge that for many years had made him the 
owner of the shop, as well as an authority on 
bibliography ; where, at last, he had gained the 
wealth that enabled him to spend a few months 
in Paris, a city which, to see, had been, for long 
years, his hope and ambition. 

9 


lO 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


He was a homely little man, with a benevolent, 
placid face, and a thoughtful, scholarly manner, — 
the manner of one who lives among books. In 
fact, in his neat brown suit, with his closely 
shaven, parchment-like face, he did not look un- 
like one of his own old-fashioned, russet-bound 
volumes. He had never married, and, as far as 
he knew, he had not a relative in the world ; 
he lived quite alone in the high, narrow rooms 
over his shop, and having the gentlest, kindliest 
nature that was ever given to one with no natural 
outlets for his affections, he worshipped books, 
music, children, and animals; he was Toncle 'Nidas, 
the confidant and friend of most of the little ones 
in the neighborhood. It was really touching to 
see the joy of the children who crowded into his 
shop to welcome him home. 

Oh ! onde ’Nidas, you are welcome,’’ they cried 
with one voice, clasping and kissing his hands. 

Ah ! Lucie, ma clierc petite, glad to see me back, 
n'est ce pas f and, my little pale Jacques, how is the 
lame hip, mon enfant? and Henri, the naughtiest 
of all, as red as a crevisse. Your maman has fed 
you well. Why, Fifine, your cheeks shine like 
cherries. Oui, oui! I’ve got something for you. 


UNCLE 'NIDAS. 


I I 

Nanette. Wait until I unpack my boxes, arid you 
shall see. Joujoiis? AJi^ oui^ half the toys in Paris 
— I tried to remember you all. Now run away 
until to-morrow, and you shall see, you shall see.*’ 

Then there was Monkey, his little terrier, who 
sprang into his arms in wild delight, and his 
tiny marmoset, Toto, who sat on his shoulder and 
patted his cheek with almost human affection. 
And his mocking-bird. Flute, who tumbled from 
perch to perch as though he were dizzy, uttering 
a series of little cackling cries which sounded like 
immoderate laughter. They were all so happy, 
that even his old servant Cressy, an intelligent 
French quadroon, forgot to be formal and top- 
lofty while serving the dinner, and fluttered about 
nervously, clattering the plates and forks, an un- 
usual occurrence for one of such severe decorum. 

“ Now, Cressy,” said Monsieur Nardi, as he 
seated himself before a savory fricassee^ flanked on 
one side with a dish of snowy rice, and on the 
other with his favorite salad of shrimp, I feel 
myself at home again. I haven’t seen such a fri- 
cassee since I went away, and such rice! Paris is 
a great city, a beautiful city, yet they can’t cook 
rice there ; but oh, the books ! the books ! They 


12 


S£/?APB, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


can well afford to do without rice properly cooked 
when they have miles and miles of old hooks. 
Such books ! Oh ! I was intoxicated, I was greedy, 
to have them. Ah ! Cressy, I am a vrai hou- 
quineur. I spent my days, and most of my nights, 
in the Quartier Latin, and on the Quai Voltaire, 
and what a feast! I never thought of rice. Yes, 
I ate, I suppose I ate ; but of what I don’t re- 
member. Perhaps it was good, but it made no 
impression. Well, I improved my time, and I 
brought back some treasures. When I unpack 
my boxes, you shall see. Now, Cressy, ma honne 
femme, tell me everything that has happened in 
the neighborhood since I went away.” 

Par exemple ! Monsieur Leonidas, as if I could 
remember everything. But let me think — since 
you went away — let me think. Well, monsieur, 
Pierre has married the baker’s widow, after all, and 
Madame the widow Tontine has gone to live with 
her daughter in the country. Then Heloise, the 
eldest girl of the florist, is fiance to a 'petit crevisse, 
who earns only twenty dollars a month, and wears 
such a big pin in his cravat. A merciful Provi- 
dence watches over the blind and the foolish, or 
such no account people would perish; and little 


UNCLE WIDAS. 


Jean, who is always in trouble, swallowed a dime. 
It stuck in his throat, and the doctor came to get 
it out, when luckily it went down, but his foolish 
old tante cried, because she had saved it for an 
offering and didn’t want to lose it. Then Victor, 
the wood merchant, cut off his finger while mak- 
ing kindling, and the hijoiitiere on the corner was 
broken into while Madame was away; the thieves 
took a bag which they thought full of money, 
and there was nothing in it but rusty steel thim- 
bles. The other day the old Italian cobbler across 
the way got a fine scare. He bought a dollar 
lottery ticket, and three nines came out ; he 
looked at his ticket, and, ha-ha, he had three 
nines, so he ran, in his stocking feet, bare-headed, 
all the way to the bureau^ and showed his num- 
bers, trembling so that he couldn’t speak. ‘But, 
my friend,’ the clerk said, ‘these are three sixes; 
you looked at your ticket upside down.’ The 
poor cobbler had to be helped home. Eh hien, he 
was too eager to get money without working for 
it. I wonder if I’ve thought of everything,” and 
Cressy paused with her finger on her lip. “ Why, 
no indeed, I came near forgetting to tell you that 
the cottage next door is let at last.” 


14 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE . 


Vraiment f ” said Monsieur Nardi, with more 
interest than he had yet displayed while listening 
to Cressy’s news. It has been vacant so long ; 
to whom is it let ? ’’ 

To a widow and her little girl, monsieur. The 
lady is very lame and never goes out.” 

^^■Do you know who they are? the lady’s name, 
I mean.” 

No, monsieur, I don’t know her name ; but 
I was told that her husband was a German who 
played the violin in a wonderful manner. He 
died a while ago suddenly, and they say that 
rnadame was a singer, or something, before she 
had a stroke of numb palsy.” 

Ah ! then she is unable to follow her profes- 
sion,” said Monsieur Nardi, between two mouth- 
fuls of salad. I hope her husband saved some- 
thing, or they are likely to be very poor.” 

Musical people never do take care of their 
money,” returned Cressy, with an air of wisdom, 
and I’m pretty sure that he was like all the 
others, for they didn’t move much furniture, al- 
though it was good what there was of it, and a 
piano. These people must have music if they 
have nothing to eat. The only servant they have 


UNCLE WIDAS. 


15 


is an old colored man. He’s old, but they say he’s 
a good cook, and a handy honest creature, and 
devoted to the little girl ; and she, poor child, is 
that shabby that one can tell her clothes are made 
up of old scraps, although she’s always clean and 
tidy. Yes, I’m sure they are poor, and I think 
they are as proud as they are poor.” 

How sad for the child,” murmured Monsieur 
Nardi. He was thinking of his own poverty-stricken 
childhood, and the little patched garments he had 
worn. 

Oh, she isn’t sad ; she’s as gay as a bird, and she 
plays the violin like a little witch,” returned Cressy, 
as she removed the plates. From the window of 
your chamber you can look down into their yard 
and see that child cutting capers to make you die 
of laughing.” 

Just at that moment there came through the 
open window a long wailing note of a violin, 
which was followed by a rapid march, executed 
with such fervor that Monsieur Nardi swallowed 
the last drop of his cafe noir and mounted hurriedly 
to the room above, where he could command a 
view of the cottage yard. 


II. 


THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


PPRO ACHING the window cautiously, Mon- 



sieur Nardi looked through the bowed ” shut- 
ters, a surprised and interested spectator of a little 
scene which made him laugh softly to himself. 

Before one of the low back windows of the cot- 
tage, a small platform was constructed of an old 
door laid across a couple of rough boxes. This 
was decorated at eaph end with the long swaying 
leaves of the banana, and over it, against the 
wall of the house, were fastened several blossom- 
ing branches of oleander and crape myrtle, the 
pink and white flowers blending prettily and mak- 
ing quite a bowery effect. While he was wonder- 
ing at this fantastic arrangement, the faded red 
curtain at the window was drawn aside by an im- 
petuous hand, and a picturesque little figure stepped 
out, with a long train, fashioned from a faded 
damask table-cover, trailing behind her. This was 
gathered in a bunch behind, and fastened under 


THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


17 


a sash of frayed blue silk ; a wreath of crushed 
pink roses fell over her long yellow hair ; her scant 
white frock was decorated in front with faded 
flowers, and her small feet were covered with 
soiled white shoes much too large for them. In 
one hand she held a violin, which looked out of 
proportion to the slender little figure, and in the 
other the bow which she waved gracefully, bowing 
to the right and left, and smiling sweetly to an 
imaginary audience. 

Suddenly there sounded a succession of hearty 
claps, dry and rattling, as though two sticks were 
struck together, and Monsieur Nardi’s merry eyes, 
following the direction of the noise, saw another 
droll figure. 

In the shadow of a great oleander tree, seated 
in an armchair, was an old white-haired negro, ar- 
rayed in the remnants of a dress coat, a tattered 
opera hat on his lap was filled with flowers, 
which he caressed tenderly with the long bony 
hands, that had rattled applause when the little 
violiniste appeared. 

Slowly and graciously, with quite a professional 
air, the child approached the front of the small 
platform, and with another charming bow and 


1 8 SERAPH, THE TITTLE VIOLINISTE, 

smile raised the violin to her shoulder, and lean- 
ing her soft pale cheek caressingly against it, 
seemed to whisper to it as if it were a human 
being. Poising the bow in the air for a moment, 
and bringing it suddenly down on the strings, she 
drew out a few wild discordant notes, then 
plunged into a rapid mirthful fantasie, so light 
and joyous, so full of soul-stirring hilarity, that 
Monsieur Nardi fairly shook with laughter. From 
that she floated off into a dreamy nocturne which 
she played with great expression and delicacy, 
the slender little fingers gliding caressingly over 
the strings while she seemed to whisper and 
smile into the very heart of the violin. After a 
few last chords drawn out in infinite sadness to 
silence, she raised her head and looked around tri- 
umphantly, her little white face full of passion, 
her dark eyes beaming with excitement. 

Then the strange audience of one struck his 
bony hands together in rapturous applause, after 
which he showered his posies upon the happy 
little violiniste, who smiled and bowed with her 
hand on her heart after the manner of older 
artists. When the old hat was emptied of its 
fragrant contents, the little girl gathered in her 


THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


19 


arms as many of the flowers as she could carry, 
and turning with a graceful sweep of her table- 
cover train, she gravely raised the red curtain 
and disappeared through the window. 

When she was gone, the old negro rose stiffly 
from his chair, and taking ofl the shabby coat, he 
shook it, and looking at it critically, muttered, 
Anoder split down der back, an’ dat sleebe 
mos’ tored from top ter bottom. I can’t get inter 
it many mo’ times eben to please dat chile.” 

Then with shaking hands, he slowly and care- 
fully folded the dilapidated garment, and carried 
it with the hat into the small back room that 
served him for a chamber. After that he lifted 
the chair laboriously, and slowly hobbled with it 
toward the cottage, still muttering to himself. 

Bress my soul, I’s a gettin’ ole, too ole ter 
play wid chil’ren, an’ my ole ban’s is dat stiff an’ 
sore in der jints dat I can hardly clap no mo’ 
fer dat chile, an’ Miss Seraph ’spects it jes’ es if 
it was real, an’ loud, loud, jes’ es if I was a whole 
aujiance, an’ it’s mighty hard to tote dis yere 
heaby chair back an’ fo’th jes’ ter please her. As 
if I couldn’t set on a ole bar’ el an’ frow dem 
flowers an’ play I was der aujiance widout 


20 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLIHISTE. 


strainin’ inter dat ole coat of her pa’s, an’ tirein’ 
out my old bones a settin’ up straight in her 
ma’s bes’ chair. But ole unc’ Romeo can’t ’fuse 
dat chile nofin. If she wanted dat planner toted 
out yere, I’d have ter try to do it jes’ ter please 
her, an’ it’s a won’er she don’t. I’s ’feared ebery 
time I rigs up dat platform, I ’spect sum day ter 
year, ^Unc’ Romeo, we’s got ter habe dat planner 
out yere,’ an’ I’s a studyin’ how’s I gwine ter 
’fuse her. Now her ma’s done tuk wid der numb 
palsy in her feetses an’ can’t walk, an’ her pa’s 
dade, she’s on’y got me ter wait on her an’ ’muse 
her, an’ I’s willin’, I’s willin’, but I’s gettin’ 
awful ole an’ stiff.” 

When the old negro had finally hoisted the 
heavy chair up the steps of the little gallery, and 
disappeared within. Monsieur Nardi straightened 
himself, with a long sigh, and turned, somewhat 
reluctantly, from the window. He would have 
liked a sequel to the little comedy. 

The scene that he had witnessed affected him 
strangely. The beauty and remarkable talent of 
the child and the touching devotion of the 
old servant impressed him as something of more 
than ordinary meaning. Unexpectedly he seemed 


THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


21 


to have come face to face with his own past. 
The sadness and pathos of the nocturne had 
entered into his soul, and the small pale face of 
the child brought back scenes that his heart re- 
membered. 

In the half-hour that he lingered near the win- 
dow, he seemed to have gone back more than 
forty years to that time, those scenes, that still 
haunted him with their undying sweetness. With 
a sigh of tender regret for his lost youth, his 
dead hopes, he closed the shutter, and descended 
thoughtfully to his shop. 


III. 


PETITE MAMAN- 



HILE the pretty little maiden was masquer- 


* ^ ading in the back yard, under the admir- 
ing eyes of Monsieur Nardi, her mother, Madame 
Blumenthal, was sitting alone by the window of 
her dull little room, looking out into the small 
flower-tangled garden and narrow dusty street 
beyond. 

At the first glance one would have thought her 
a child, so small and frail did she appear, sunk in 
a big armchair, with her helpless feet on a stool. 
She wore a white robe de chmihre^ very plain but 
clean and fresh, and over her poor feet, which 
were always cold, was spread a thick red shawl. 
Her face was pretty, a faded delicate prettiness. 
Soft curling blond hair lay in damp rings over 
her blue-veined temples, her eyes were large and 
light, with a timid, startled expression, and her 
mouth, although drooping in curves of suffering 
at the corners, was gentle and refined ; her thin 


22 


PETITE MAM AN, 


23 


little hands lay folded on her lap with an air of 
extreme weariness and dejection ; the tips of the 
slender folded fingers looked like the petals of a 
flower dyed with rainbow colors. 

Before her stood a table covered with scraps of 
silk and muslin of every hue, together with 
bunches of leaves of various forms and colors, 
from pale to dark green, bronzed, flushed with 
crimson and ruddy brown. There were rose leaves, 
leaves for violets and pansies, slender lily stems 
and foliage, mossy tendrils, and graceful vines, 
mingled with bunches of wire, spools of silk, and 
balls of thread of many tints and sizes. In front 
of her were a number of tiny saucers, the bright 
blotches of paint still fresh on them, and a row 
of little bottles of liquid color which glowed like 
jewels when the sun struck them. 

On the same table stood a basket filled with 
exquisite artificial roses clustered artistically 
among folds of pale green tissue paper. The 
slender red-tipped fingers of Madame Blumenthal 
had just put the finishing touches to them and 
packed them ready to be sent to Madame Croizet, 
the modiste, on Rue Roy ale. The basket of 
flowers had an air of completeness and dainty 

/ . 


24 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


freshness that was not in keeping with the littered 
table, the somewhat untidy room, and the faded, 
weary look of its silent occupant. 

Suddenly the door that led into the rear of the 
cottage was opened with a rush, and the little 
violiniste entered, flushed and excited. She had 
unfastened her table-cover train, and it was hang- 
ing to her sash by one corner. She carried her 
violin under one arm, and with her disengaged 
hand was hurriedly removing the wreath from her 
hair. 

Madame Blumenthal, without turning her head, 
closed her tired eyes, and pressing her stained 
finger-tips to her forehead, sighed audibly, Gently, 
gently. Seraph. I’m so tired, and my head aches 
so. Oh, oh, what a sight you are ! Put that 
trash away and come to me.” 

Oui^ petite maman, I’m coming. Just let me 
put my violin away, and my toilette must be 
folded and laid in my drawer.” 

Really, child, you are too ridiculous with those 
rags,” returned her mother pettishly. I wish 
you would spend the time you give to that non- 
sense at your piano.” 

Oh, maman, chere petite maman, don’t say 


PETITE MAM AN. 


25 


that ; please don't. You wouldn’t if you had 
heard how well I played to-day/’ cried Seraph 
joyously, as she drew a faded green cover over 
the violin and laid it carefully in its case. 

My musicale was a great success. The house 
was full, and didn’t you hear the applause ? and 
there were so many beautiful flowers. It was 
lovely, cJih'e maman. Won’t you let Romeo wheel 
you out to my next musicale ? Oh, do ; I play so 
much better with a train, with flowers, and all 
that ; it’s true, cliere, I feel the music more, and 
the violin feels it and just talks to me. It’s 
lovely, lovely, and I am so happy.” 

Hush, child, hush ; you know how it hurts me 
to hear you talk so absurdly. You know I 
detest that violin playing ; I don’t want you to 
play the violin ; I want you to play the piano. 
How will you ever be prepared to teach the piano 
if you waste your time playing on the violin? 
Seraph, my darling, don’t worry me ; do as I 
wish ; practise on the piano and leave the violin. 
It’s not the instrument for a girl. You can’t 
teach the violin when you are grown, and you 
must earn you bread by teaching. You must give 
up the violin and devote yourself to the piano.” 


26 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOL/NISTE. 


All the light faded out of the pale little face of 
the child, as she listened to her mother’s soft, im- 
ploring voice. She did not reply, but went on 
busily folding the veil and the soiled white frock. 

Do you hear what I am saying. Seraph ? ” con- 
tinued Madame Blumenthal impatiently. You 
have disobeyed me again to-day. You have not 
practised your scales, as I told you to do. I shall 
be obliged to take the violin from you in order to 
make you study your piano lesson.” 

Oh, petite maman, please don’t do that,” cried 
Seraph, in a tone of entreaty. I will practise the 
scales ; yes, mamma, I will, but you must, you must, 
let me keep my violin; I^ove it. It is like some- 
thing living, and the piano is only a square box to 
sit before and jangle, jangle, up and down the cold 
hard keys, with fingers that feel like sticks, while 
my violin is my little friend. I can put my face 
down to it ; I can touch it with my cheek ; I can 
whisper to it, and it whispers back to me. Oh, 
mamma, can’t you understand how I feel about it ? 
It was papa’s ; he loved it, he touched it, he whis- 
pered to it, and is, next to you, chere petite 
inaman, the very dearest, the only dear thing, I 
have.” 


PETITE MAM AN. 


27 


Yes, yes, child ; yes. Seraph, I know. Oh, I 
know, my poor little darling ; it is natural that you 
should love your father’s violin. It was a passion 
with him, but I must think of your future. I must 
do what is best for you, for your future. Cousin 
Franz says that I must make you practise the 
piano.” 

Mamma, cousin Franz does not know how I 
feel. Cousin Franz loves to preach sermons, you 
love to make flowers, and I love to play the violin, 
petite maman. I heard cousin Franz tell you, one 
day, when he was talking about my music, that 
when Madge grew up she should be a teacher of 
German, because she had a talent for that lan- 
guage, and that one did best what one loved to do. 
Then why doesn’t cousin Franz let me play the 
violin, when I can play it better than the piano?” 

Because, my child, there are some things we 
love which are harmful to us ; then we are obliged 
to give them up. You are wasting your time with 
the violin. Cousin Franz wishes you to be a pro- 
fessor of the piano, so that when you are older 
you can earn money for yourself and your help- 
less mother.” 

That is just what I intend to do, mamma ; I mean 


28 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


to be a great violiniste ; I mean to play in public. 
I’m practising for that now, and everybody will 
come to hear me, and we shall have money, — yes, 
lots of money, — and you shall go to that great 
doctor in Paris, who will cure you so that you 
can walk again.” 

“ Oh ! my poor little one, those are dreams, — 
foolish, useless dreams,” said Madame Blumen- 
thal sadly, as she drew the child tenderly to her, 
smoothing her disordered hair and flushed cheeks 
with her stained fingers. You are tired and ex- 
cited now, so we will say no more about it. Calm 
yourself, and make yourself tidy; you must take 
the roses to Madame Croizet, and tell her. Seraph, 
and speak politely, my dear, that these roses are 
very difficult to make, and that I hope she will 
kindly pay me something extra for them. And ask 
her to send me some more yellow muslin, another 
bunch of stems, and leaves for the orange blos- 
soms. Do you understand, dear? Go quickly, my 
child, and I will send Romeo to the baker’s for some 
rolls for our supper, and afterward you will have 
an hour to practise your scales.” 

Yes, mamma,” said Seraph resignedly, as she 
took the basket of flowers and went out. 


IV. 


A LITTLE WHARF RAT. 


HEN Monsieur Nardi entered his shop, after 



^ ^ his long absence, he was pleased to find 
everything in order, and as fresh and clean as such 
an old musty place could possibly be. 

The shutters had not been taken down during 
his holiday, as his business could not well go on 
without him, his peculiar knowledge being a large 
part of his stock in trade, and only available when 
he himself was ' present. Therefore, for the first 
time in nearly a hundred years, the little Magasin 
des livres had fceen closed. Cressy had, however, 
opened the rear doors and windows and aired it 
frequently, and had dusted and arranged the books 
in neat rows, gathered up all the pamphlets and 
loose leaves, put out of sight all the familiar litter 
so dear to the old book-lover, until the usually 
crowded, untidy little place had that swept and 
garnished appearance which gives us such a feeling 
of strangeness and newness when we first return 
home after a long absence. 


30 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


He had spent some time at the window above, 
watching the masquerade of the little violiniste, 
and now it was drawing on toward sunset, and for 
some reason he had a feeling of loss and loneliness. 
Was it possible that his few months of travel had 
spoiled him for his peaceful pursuits, had made 
him discontented with his humble home and occu- 
pation ? He could not allow that ; no, no, he must 
pull himself together and shake off the feeling of 
dejection that had so suddenly taken possession 
of him. 

Cressy, ma honne femme,' ' he said to his ser- 
vant, I shan’t take down the shutters to-night ; 
my boxes won’t be here before to-morrow morning. 
I am rather tired, so I will take a stroll on the 
levee for a breath of fresh air before bed-time. 
I shall retire early and be up betimes to unpack 
my boxes.” 

Then he took his hat and loitered across Jackson 
Square, where crowds of children were playing 
in the cool of the evening ; their merry, light- 
hearted laughter cheered him, and he went on 
toward the levee more hopefully. It was his 
favorite spot at twilight. Then the labor of the 
day was over, the great sheds and warehouses 


A LITTLE WHARF RAT. 


31 


were closed, the crowds of workmen had gone to 
their homes, the ships lay dark and silent, their 
spars and rigging outlined in the shimmering river. 
In mid-stream the huge steamers puffed up and 
down, churning the water to white foam, and 
leaving a long trail of black smoke against the 
pink and saffron sky. 

Holding his hat in his hand, he walked thought- 
fully to the very edge of the wharf and stood there 
for some time, enjoying the freshness and beauty 
of the scene, while the cool evening air fanned his 
hot forehead. It was a spot where he had stood 
nearly every evening for more than forty years 
and gazed at the same landscape, the same shift- 
ing panorama of passing ships and changeful sun- 
set clouds. All were the same, and yet he did not 
feel in harmony with his surroundings. He did not 
like this feeling of dissatisfaction ; he resented the 
thought that the pleasures of travel had set him 
at variance with his former life. Silent, and out- 
wardly calm, his gentle, benevolent face betrayed 
nothing of the small struggle that was going on 
within, in his effort to recover his mental equilib- 
rium. 

With his eyes fixed on the fading splendors of 


32 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


the evening sky, he stood softly fanning himself 
with his hat, when suddenly he started and glanced 
around uneasily. He had an impression that some 
one was looking at him, but there was no one 
visible. Near him was a great mound of baled 
cotton, piled irregularly and covered with tar- 
paulins to protect it from the weather. As he 
looked closely, he saw under a curtain-like flap 
of the canvas falling over a space between two 
bales, a pair of large dark eyes peering at him. 

For a moment he hesitated, then walked nearer, 
and stooping looked into the little space, and 
there saw sitting, like a little statue enshrined in 
a niche, a thin, ragged boy of about twelve years. 

The child looked up, smiling gently as he met 
the kind eyes bent on him, and said in a pleasant 
voice, but with the accent of the slums, Good 
evenin’, sir.” 

Good evening, my little friend,” returned 
Monsieur Nardi. What are you doing here so 
near dark? Why don’t you go home?” 

haven’t got no home,” replied the boy, slip- 
ping out of his niche and standing before Mon- 
sieur Nardi, his ragged hat held respectfully in his 
hand. 


A LITTLE WHARF RAT 


33 


No home ! I don’t understand. Why, where 
do you live ? ” 

Oh, anywheres where I happens to be ; some- 
times one place, sometimes anuder. I most al’ays 
goes up the river on a lugger an’ peddles fruit 
an’ oysters. Then I lives on the lugger an’ gits 
plenty feat. When I can’t git no chance to take 
a trip, I stays about the wharves. They call me 
a li’l wharf rat, but the sailors an’ rousterbouts is 
real good to me. I runs errands fer the screw- 
men. I does odd jobs fer the men, an’ they gives 
me some o’ their dinner, an’ sometimes they gives 
me a nickel.” 

You don’t mean to tell me,” said Monsieur 
Nardi incredulously, that you sleep here at 
night.” 

Yes, sir, course I does. When I ain’t on a 
lugger, I sleeps here on the cotton ; it’s warm, 
mister. In the winter I crawls in ermong the 
bales, an’ in the summer I sleeps on the soft side 
of a plank, an’ when it rains, I gits un’er the tar- 
poleyuns, an’ I’m as dry as a crust o’ bread. But 
I knows you, mister,” he continued, with a little 
wink, and a grimace of pleased intelligence. I’ve 
knowed you a long time ; you’re the mister what 


34 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


sells books on St. Louis Street. I’ve been there 
lots o’ times.” 

Have you ? What have you been there for ? ” 
asked Monsieur Nardi, greatly interested. 

Oh, that’s where I goes to git my books an’ 
papers what I reads an’ says my lessons out of. If 
you’ll jes’ please to come erlong here, mister. I’ll 
show you where I keeps ’em.” 


V. 


MARC. 



ITH a feeling of amused curiosity Monsieur 


^ ^ Nardi followed the little fellow, as he 
hopped before him, looking back now and then, his 
little grimy face bright with eager expectation. 

You see, mister, I’m lame ; I run a nail in my 
foot, an’ that’s why I’m hangin’ ’bout here ’stead 
o’ bein’ off on a trip.’ Here’s where I keeps my 
books an’ things,” and he stooped before a pile of 
lumber, and lifting up some loose boards, 
dragged out an old tin biscuit box filled with 
such a collection of rubbish as boys like to own. 
On top of the trash were several dilapidated spell- 
ing-books, some pages and scraps of magazines, 
newspapers, and colored posters, with a broken 
slate on which was an attempt at writing. 

See, mister, I got all these books an’ papers 
out o’ the trash box on your sidewalk. I goes 
there often an’ picks it over, but your shop’s been 
shut up a good while. Your old colored woman 
told me you’d gone away to Paris.” 


35 


36 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

“ Yes, I’ve been away,” returned Monsieur Nardi, 
surprised at the little fellow’s information concerning 
his own movements ; but, my child, why do you 
gather up these scraps of books. Can you read ?” 

Yes, sir; course I can,” he replied with a 
pleased chuckle. ^^Want to hear me?” and pick- 
ing up one of the colored posters, he read the 
headlines correctly in a clear, firm voice. 

‘‘Very good, very good,” said Monsieur Nardi 
heartily. “ Why, my little fellow, how did you learn 
to read ? ” 

“ Mr. Patsy, the watchman, told me the letters. 
Mr. Patsy’s been here ever since I can remember, 
an’ he’s awful good to me ; he gives me swell shirts 
and breeches sometimes. He knows how to read 
fine print, an’ write, an’ do sums, cause he checks 
freight and signs papers. Me an’ him is chums, 
an’ he’s teachin’ me to write an’ do sums on my 
slate. See my writing ? ” and he held up the 
broken slate, proudly pointing out each word with 
his little dirty finger. “ That spells my name, an’ 
New ’leens, Louisiana.” 

“What is your name, my child?” asked Mon- 
sieur Nardi, his eyes on the slate, vainly trying to 
decipher the characters. 


MARC. 


37 


Marc, sir.” 

^^What else?” 

Nothing else ; just Marc.” 

^Ah,” murmured Monsieur Nardi, ^^one of God’s 
children;” then aloud, ^^And your parents, are 
they dead?” 

I guess so ; I don’t know. I’ve been here ever 
since I can remember, an’ I never had any mammy 
or daddy. Mr. Patsy, he said I was a little kid 
runnin’ ’round here when he got the job, an’ he don’t 
know who I b’long to. He’s tried to find out, but 
he can’t. I don’t need any daddy an’ mammy. I 
git plenty t’eat, an’ 1 can read, an’ I sleep warm 
o’ nights; only sometimes — sometimes when Mr. 
Patsy’s off makin’ his roun’s, I gits awful lunsum, 
an’ I’m ’fraid o’ them water gobble-uns when I 
hears ’em splashin’ un’er the wharf. A Swede 
sailorman tol’ me sometimes them gobble-uns come 
an’ drags boys down in the river an’ drowns ’em. 
Now does they, mister ? ” 

^^No, no, my child,” said Monsieur Nardi, look- 
ing at the boy reflectively. Something in the wist- 
ful, appealing glance that accompanied the question 
went straight to the old man’s heart. The child 
was dirty and unkempt, but he was not ugly. His 


38 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

slim figure was straight and well formed, his feat- 
ures were regular, and his eyes were beautiful, 
large, trustful brown eyes, like the honest eyes 
of a dog. And his intelligence, uncommon in one 
of his class, his pitiful efforts at learning, his care- 
fully hoarded scraps of books, and his pathetic little 
history, touched the tender spot, unusually tender 
to-night, in Monsieur Nardi’s kind heart. 

He remembered his own unhappy, neglected 
childhood, his own struggle for knowledge, and 
he felt like taking the child to the same fountain 
where he had quaffed such delicious draughts. 
Instantly his decision was made, and he resolved 
to give the little waif a chance. And so you 
get lonesome sometimes,” he said. ^^Now, how 
would you like to come and live with me?” 

The boy’s eyes grew large with surprise. Live 
with you? Course, mister, I’d like it, but I guess 
you ain’t in earnest.” 

Certainly I am, mon enfant; I am looking for 
a boy to bring up in my shop, to teach him the 
business. I prefer an orphan. Evidently you are 
one. You like books; and if you are a good, honest 
boy, you’ll suit me perfectly.” 

^^Ask Mr. Patsy if I’m a good boy; he’ll tell 


MARC. 


39 


you I don^t lie an’ steal. He knows I’m willin’ to 
work when I ain’t got a sore foot. Do you mean, 
mister, that I can go in your shop with all them 
books?” 

^^It will be part of your work to help me to 
take care of them.” 

^^An’ I can look in ’em an’ read ’em?” 

^^As much as you like.” 

Oh, jimminy crickets ! That’s a snap for a 
kid like me,” he cried, throwing up his ragged 
cap joyfully. 

If you’re as nice a boy as I think you are, 
you shall be well cared for,” continued Monsieur 
Nardi cheerily. You shall have a comfortable 
little room back of my shop, good food, and clean 
clothes; but you must be quiet and studious, and 
you must give up your wild life on the levee. Do 

you think you can do that, mon enfant f 

^^You bet I can, mister; jes’ try me an’ see. I 
know that place; I’ve been there lots o’ times an’ 
looked in the shop when you didn’t see me. But 
Mr. Patsy, he’s my chum.” Here his face fell and 
he looked worried and perplexed. He’ll think 

I’ve give him the shake. You’ll let me come 

sometimes an’ see him, won’t you ? ” 


40 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Why, yes ; every day if you like, and he can 
come and see you. I know Patsy; he is a very 
worthy man. You can keep your friend, my child. 
I don’t want you to be ungrateful ; but I am think- 
ing how strange it is that I never before saw you 
here.” 

I’ve seen you plenty o’ times standin’ jes’ 
there on the edge o’ the wharf, holdin’ your hat 
an’ wipin’ your face when it was warm. I looked 
at you good ’cause I knowed you, but you didn’t 
happen to see me.” 

Yes, that was it,” returned Monsieur Nardi, 
smiling. “ I didn’t happen to see you until this 
evening.” Then he thought, I have felt heart- 
sick ever since I heard that child play the violin. 
If there’s a wound in the heart, the music of a violin 
makes it bleed. I am a lonely, disappointed old 
man ; I need something human to love. I never 
before felt so strongly the need of a child to care 
for. It may be that le hon Dieu has sent me this 
one. We will see, we will see.” Then he said 
aloud, “Well, my child, will you go with me now? 
Yes, you had better. Come then ; let us go home.” 

“ Can I take my box, and things ? ” he asked. 

Monsieur Nardi said, “Yes,” and Marc rooted 


MARC. 


41 


among the boards and drew out a few shabby 
toys, which he stuffed in his ragged pockets, and 
tucking the tin box under his arm, he started off 
with a beaming face. 

“ Cressy, ma honne femme,'" said the old bookseller, 
going into his neat kitchen, where the old woman 
sat darning linen, I’ve got a surprise for you. 
Since I’ve been out I have found the boy I have 
always been looking for, — that friendless orphan. 
He is dirty and hungry. Feed him, and see 
that he has a bath and a comfortable bed, and in 
the morning, on your way to market, buy him 
some clothes ; burn those he has on. And, Cressy, 
he has injured his foot ; put arnica and a clean 
bandage on it. Do all you can for him and think 
that you are doing it for one of His little ones, and 
me as well. — Come in, mon enfant. Here he is; 
his name is Marc. By and by we will find him 
another, and — and we will teach him to wear 
shoes and stockings when his foot is well ; nest 
ce pas, ma honne f ” 


VI. 


BON-BONS FROM PARIS. 

f I ^HE next morning Monsieur Nardi awoke 
with the feeling of a new responsibility rest- 
ing upon him. He was very tired after his 
journey and the important transaction of the even- 
ing, and when he had taken his coffee he turned 
over for another nap ; therefore it was later than 
his usual hour, and the bright October sun was 
looking into his window when he threw open the 
shutters. While he was shaving he was wondering 
what had become of his little protege^ and whether 
Cressy had carried out his instructions to make the 
boy presentable. 

Presently he heard from below a merry sweet 
laugh, and looking into his garden he saw Marc, 
but so transformed that it was difficult to recog- 
nize in him the little gamin of the previous even- 
ing. He was perched on a bench under the arbor 
of multiflora rose, with Toto on his shoulder, and 
the terrier jumping over him as if they were old 
friends. He looked several shades whiter now that 


42 


BON-BONS FROM PARIS. 


43 


his face was thoroughly bathed, and Cressy had 
sent him to the barber around the corner to have 
his hair washed and trimmed, and the result 
was that his matted, straggling locks were now 
soft and waving, and of a pretty chestnut brown. 
He was clad in a neat dark suit, and his lame foot 
was bound with a clean bandage. Altogether he 
looked like a nice boy, neat and comfortable, and 
so happy. Monsieur Nardi thought the child had 
the most musical laugh that he had ever heard. 

When the old gentleman descended to his little 
sitting-room, behind his shop, where his breakfast 
was served, he told Cressy to send the boy to 
him, and Marc entered briskly, his bright face 
full of expectation, just touched with anxiety. 

Bon jouVy mon enfant,'' said Monsieur Nardi 
pleasantly; I’m glad to see you looking so well. 
How did you sleep in your new home ? ” 

Oh, sir, I couldn’t sleep in the bed. It was 
too soft and warm. I never slep’ in a first-class 
bed like that, but I’ll git used to it, an’ then I’ll 
like it, r guess.” 

And your clothes, are they comfortable ? Do 
you like them ? ” 

Yes, sir,” he said, eyeing them a little doubt- 


44 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


fully. They’re turruble swell. I ain’t used to such 
clean togs ; but your colored woman says I’ll git use 
to them too. She says I’ll be a boss dude in six 
months; but I won’t, ’cause I hates a dude, an’ I 
don’t want the kids a laughin’ an’ pokin’ fun at me.” 

Monsieur Nardi smiled. You shall not 
dress above your position, my child, I promise 
you that ; but you must be neat and properly 
clothed to work in my shop, and I want you to 
speak French as well as you can. I like it better 
than your English. Try to forget the argot of 
the levee, for you must learn to speak properly, 
in order to serve my customers.” 

Yes, sir, I knows that, and I means to 
try hard to please you ; an’ I wants to work. 
Please give me somethin’ to do, an’ you’ll see 
how I can work.” 

a Very well, my boy, you shall have' something 
to do in the shop. Ask Cressy, and she will show 
you what books need dusting and arranging. 
When I finish my breakfast, you shall help me to 
open my boxes.” 

Monsieur Nardi had no idea that he had made 
such extensive purchases in Paris until he saw 
the packages piled up in his little shop. He 


BON-BONS FROM PARIS. 


45 


eyed them doubtfully, scarcely knowing where he 
could put so many additional volumes on his 
already overcrowded shelves ; but he went to work 
with a will, assisted by Marc, who had the de- 
lightful faculty of doing exactly as he was told. 

On consulting his note-book, the old gentleman 
found that box four contained toys, knick-knacks, 
and little odd things that he had picked up in 
the Palais Royal and Bon Marche, for his small 
friends. These he hastened to unpack, and he 
was surprised to find that his little assistant was 
uncommonly helpful, and practical beyond his 
years. Although at times Marc was sadly dis- 
tracted by the beauty and variety of the articles 
he was handling, he worked seriously, and with 
the closest attention to Monsieur Nardi’s directions, 
trotting back and forth from the boxes to the 
tables and shelves, placing each thing just where 
it belonged, with such good taste and aptitude 
that the old bookseller was charmed with the 
boy’s intelligence and docility. 

Before Monsieur Nardi was aw^are of it, so busy 
had he been, it was long after midday, and his 
little friends, released from the neighboring school, 
began to gather about him, eagerly expectant. 


46 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Ah ! Here you are, mes enfants^' he said 
cheerfully, wiping the dust from his hands and 
straightening his bent back. Eh hieiiy I tried to 
remember you all. Now, my little girls first ; girls 
must always have the first place.” He was very sys- 
tematic, and on each little gift he had written a name. 

Lucie, ma tres bien aimee, here is a doll for 
you. Look, ma chere, you can touch this tiny 
spring, and she will walk and hold her parasol 
over her head like a real little lady. Elle est chic, 
nest-ce pas ? ” 

“ Merci, merci bien, Oncle 'Nidas,'" and little Lucie 
grasped the lovely toy rapturously ; “ Oh, oh, she is 
so pretty ! ” 

“And Fifine, ma bonne petite Fifine, this is a 
Cupidon for you,^_aJnve of a Cupidon ; and, Marie, 
for you, a trifle, but it is not so bad. Eh bien. 
Celeste, for you a useful present, a neat little 
writing-case for my best scholar, — pens, paper, and 
all. Bien, bien, tres bien” And Monsieur Nardi 
pushed them off with both hands : their clamor of 
thanks and lively demonstrations of gratitude were 
too much for him. “ Be quiet, allons, allons. Here, 
Henri, this is for you. And, Pierre, you see I have 
not forgotten you. Voila, Jacques, my poor little 


BON-BONS FROM PARIS, 


47 


Jacques, in this box is a strap for your lame 
hip. You must wear it all the time, and it will 
cure you, and under the strap — well, take it home 
and look, and you will see, my little man, you will 
see. Ah, gros Jean, you are getting too large 
ioY joujous. Take this — jias heaucoup, but it shows 
that I remembered you. Now you all have some- 
thing, nest-ce pas f ” 

ouiy ouij 1)071 Oncle 'Nidas; merci, mercir' 
and there was another onslaught, from which, 
laughing and struggling, he defended himself as 
well as he was able. 

During all this animated little scene, Marc had 
stood with clasped hands and eager, dancing eyes, 
a delighted spectator of the happiness of others. 

He has a good, generous heart,” thought Mon- 
sieur Nardi ; he has not shown the least jealousy 
or disappointment because I have nothing for him. 
Come here, mon enfaiitj' he said kindly, and let 
these little people see you. Children, your Uncle 
’Nidas has a new nephew ; his name is Marc, and 
he has come to live here. I hope you will all be 
very friendly to him.” 

We will. Uncle ’Nidas, we will,” they all cried 
heartily, and with one voice. 


48 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Then little Fifine drew near and whispered. 

Listen, mon oncle ; did you bring him from Paris 
in one of those big boxes ? ” 

“ No, naughty little one ; no, no,” replied Mon- 
sieur Nardi, laughing and patting the rosy cheek ; 

no, I did not bring him from Paris, I found him 
here. Ah, ah, what do I see ? another cher petit 
ange^ 

For just at that moment Monsieur Nardi noticed 
a little figure standing without, on the extreme 
edge of the sidewalk, looking sadly at the happy 
group within the shop. There was a wistful ex- 
pression in the brown eyes that went straight to 
the heart of the good old man, a sort of lonely 
aloofness from the happiness of the other chil- 
dren, which appealed strongly to him. Stepping 
to the door, he said kindly, Won’t you come in 
and look at the pretty things? You see I know 
you ; you are my little neighbor.” Then to him- 
self, Dear me, dear me, and I have nothing for 
her.” 

Glancing around, his eyes fell on a box of bon- 
bons, an exquisite thing of pale mauve satin, 
ornamented with a bunch of violets and a rich 
ribbon. He had bought it for an older child ; in 



“ ‘ WON’T YOU COME IN AND LOOK AT THE PRETTY THINGS ?’’ ” 




BON-BONS FROM PARIS. 


49 


fact, he intended it for his friend and customer, 
Madame St. Maxent. But he did not hesitate, he 
could not be indifferent to a sad-eyed child ; so 
he wrote on a card, ^^For the charming little 
violiniste^' and fastening it to the ribbon, he 
handed it to Seraph, saying, For you, my child ; 
please accept it; it is only a little box of bon- 
bons from Paris.’’ 


VII. 


THEIR LITTLE HISTORY. 

S ERAPH was not fond of Cousin Franz Arnet, 
although he was almost the only friend she 
and her mother had. He was a cousin of Carl 
Blumenthal, the violinist, and when they were 
boys in far-away Germany, they were intimate 
friends and close companions. Carl’s father was 
a musical director in Berlin, and the father of 
Franz was a poor Lutheran minister. 

Carl followed the profession of his father. He, 
Carl, was a musical enthusiast, with more than 
ordinary talent ; but lacking that spark of genius, 
that immortal touch, which the human soul recog- 
nizes and adores. He was a fair-haired, light 
hearted boy of twenty when he left the father- 
land to seek his fortune in the New World. 
Hearing that New Orleans was a musical city, 
he drifted South, and very soon got a good 
engagement as second violin. 

For several years he led a careless, happy life, 
with very little ambition beyond filling his en- 
50 


THEIR LITTLE HISTORY. 


51 


gagement during the season, and at other times 
eking out his scanty income by teaching and 
playing. 

One winter it was whispered that there was 
to be a debutante in the musical world, a young 
girl of rare loveliness, who had never appeared 
before the public, and who had been taught en- 
tirely by her mother, Madame Paulette, h former 
first soprano, who in her youth had been much 
admired for her beauty, as well as for her noble, 
upright character. 

Madame Paulette had retired early from her 
profession to devote herself to an invalid hus- 
band and one idolized child. Before her little 
Louise had completed her sixth year, she began 
to show her inherited talent, — she could sing like 
a tiny bird, — but her mother, knowing from her 
own experience, how severe the training must be, 
and how great were the trials and temptations of 
a public singer, tried in every way to discourage 
her little daughter from following the profession 
which she had found most unsatisfactory. 

The child had a thoroughly artistic tempera- 
ment ; she was light and graceful to her dainty 
finger tips. She loved flowers passionately, and 


52 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


showed such remarkable taste in fashioning them 
that her mother apprenticed her to an artificial 
flower-maker. But, poor child, she could not sit 
still and patiently follow the dull routine of her 
trade. She grew tired of cutting leaves and wind- 
ing stems ; her little restless spirit sang to melo- 
dies unheard by all save herself. She was like 
an imprisoned bird or butterfly, her life was 
rhythm and melody, and she was dying amidst 
discords, dulness, and inaction. She grew pale 
and listless; she was fading like a flower in an 
unnatural atmosphere. At last she declared to 
her mother, with a passionate outburst of tears, 
that she could not live, that she must sing or die. 

Poor Madame Paulette saw that it was useless 
to struggle against a law stronger than maternal 
desires. So she removed Louise from the shop 
of the flower-maker, and began systematically to 
train her voice. If she was to be a singer, she 
should be no ordinary singer. She should be a 
premiere or nothing. Therefore the delicate, sweet 
little voice was subjected to the severest training. 
There must be no note too difficult for her to 
accomplish. Ah, what an undertaking for a frail 
little girl of twelve years ! What courage, what 


THEIR LITTLE HISTORY. 


53 


patience, what endurance were necessary before she 
could hope for success ; but at last, when she was 
scarcely seventeen, one never to be forgotten 
night, slender girlish Louise appeared before her 
first audience. The first soprano had been taken 
suddenly ill,* and Louise Paulette was selected to 
fill the difficult role. 

Carl Blumenthal, below in the orchestra, almost 
forgot his notes, so enraptured was he with the 
lovely creature. Her voice was so pure and fresh, 
and she was so modest, and so gentle in her naive 
and childlike efforts to please, that her audience 
was enchanted with her, and after the first note 
her success was assured. But, alas, her triumph 
was short-lived ; before the season was over, a sud- 
den cold during too severe practice over a difficult 
part brought on inflammation of the vocal organs, 
and her singing days were over. The doctor who 
attended her gave her little hope from the first. 
The delicate organization had been overtasked, and 
Nature had revenged herself. 

It was very pathetic, the sudden ending of such 
a brilliant career, and poor Louise almost sank 
beneath the blow. Among the first to offer his 
devotion to the stricken little singer was Carl 


54 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLTNISTE. 


Blumenthal. From the first moment of her afflic- 
tion he cheered her with his sunny, hopeful nature, 
and sustained her by his loyalty and sincere affec- 
tion. 

Madame Paulette never recovered from the shock ; 
in less than a year after her daughter’s misfortune 
she was released from the anxieties and disappoint- 
ments of a wearisome life. Then the noble nature 
of Carl Blumenthal, his love and devotion for the 
unhappy girl, asserted itself. He married her and 
took her to a neat cottage, which he furnished 
and decorated from his small savings, making it 
as dainty and pretty as he possibly could for his 
delicate little wife, and they were very happy in 
their modest home. 

The old negro, Romeo, who had been for years a 
hanger-on, had, without any particular desire on 
the part of Carl Blumenthal, attached himself to 
the young violinist with one of those unselfish and 
sincere affections which often exist between the 
colored servant and the white master. So when 
the young couple set up their home, the old 
darkey became a very useful member of the small 
menage, quitting his favorite and life-long haunts, 
for the kitchen and garden of his adored master. 


THEIR LITTLE HISTORY. 


55 


Not long after Carl’s marriage his family was 
increased by the arrival, from Germany, of his 
Cousin Franz. His boyhood’s friend had gone into 
the church, and had been ordained, and called to a 
small Lutheran congregation in New Orleans, where 
he had arrived full of piety and zeal to take charge 
of his new church. 

Then another stranger came, a beautiful dark-eyed, 
golden-haired little girl, so lovely and so lively, 
so full of life and motion, such a noisy, irrepressible 
little mite, that the quiet cottage was filled with 
sudden animation. One day when they were search- 
ing for a name to bestow upon the turbulent little 
creature, her father said, Let us call her Sera- 
phin,” and from that time the name, shortened to 
Seraph, became a part of her. And it suited her 
extremely well ; she was so bright, so active, so 
overfiowing with sound, so much in evidence, as to 
be always the most important personage in the 
small household. 

The young mother, notwithstanding her bitter 
disappointment, could have been happy and con- 
tented with her lot had she regained her health 
after the birth of her child ; but, alas, it very soon 
became apparent that she was to remain an in- 


56 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

valid, chained to her chair by a partial paralysis 
of her lower limbs. This was another terrible 
blow, but Carl and Cousin Franz were so hopeful 
of her final cure, that at last she accepted the 
situation patiently, and with much courage endeav- 
ored to forget her affliction in her devotion to her 
husband and child. 

Before Seraph was out of long frocks. Cousin 
Franz, in his austere piety, thought that she was 
too much petted and pampered ; that such un- 
bounded love for an earthly object was little short 
of idolatry, and before she could speak plainly she 
had learned to feel the frown of displeasure with 
which the young minister regarded her. She 
adored her father and mother ; she was all affec- 
tion, all expansiveness to them, but to cousin 
Franz she showed a strong dislike, a settled aver- 
sion which was remarkable in so yaung a child. 
From her earliest recollection he was the bitter 
drop in her cup — the stern shadow which made 
her feel that babyhood was not all sunshine. 

She was seven years old when her little heart 
ached with its first real sorrow. Her merry, light- 
hearted father, full of life and love, left them with 
a smile on his lips, and an hour after was brought 


THEIR LITTLE HISTORY. 


57 


back white and silent. He lived only a few mo- 
ments, dumb, unconscious, and was spared the 
sadness of farewells.” The bright life went out 
like a candle in a sudden draught. 

Often poor little Louise Blumenthal said to 
Cousin Franz, It seems as though Carl has gone 
away only for a little while, and that he must 
come back again. How can Seraph live all her 
life without him ? ” 


VIII. 


COUSIN FRANZ, 



OUSIN FRANZ was a sensible, practical man, 


with very little romance or sentiment in his 
composition. He was sincere, devout, and self- 
sacrificing. One of those orderly, well-balanced 
souls, extremely well equipped to be a guide and 
leader for the timid and weak. Therefore when 
poor Louise Blumenthal found herself so suddenly 
deprived of all earthly aid, she naturally turned to 
Cousin Franz for advice and moral support. 

At his death, Carl left very little means of 
sustenance for his wife and child. He was gen- 
erous and careless of money, and had never re- 
fused his small family any luxury that added to 
its comfort and happiness ; therefore he had saved 
but little, and when he, the cheerful, patient bread- 
winner, was gone, not sorrow alone, but poverty 
as well, stared Louise in the face. How could she, 
a frail cripple, support herself and child? 

In this extremity Cousin Franz came bravely 
forward and adjusted her temporal affairs in a 


COUSIN FRANZ. 


59 


simple, sensible way. He found for her a smaller, 
less expensive cottage, he helped her dispose of 
her superfluous furniture. He wrote to Carl’s 
father a touching letter, to which the musical 
director generously responded by making his son’s 
widow a small allowance from his own slender in- 
come. Then Cousin Franz suggested that it would 
amuse Louise, as well as add to her little revenue, 
to take up the long-neglected flower-making, for 
which she had such a dainty taste, and it was 
Cousin Franz himself who, in his stiff clerical 
garb, with his pale, severe face, went to the good- 
natured, worldly Madame Croizet and asked her to 
employ the little widow. 

I never send my work out,” said Madame. I 
have it done under my own eye by young girls 
who are learning the trade, therefore I pay but 
little; but I remember la gentille petite Louise, and 
what an exceptional taste she had. So to oblige 
you, monsieur, I will give her some of my choicest 
work.” 

And Croizet was as good as her word. She 
gave Madame Blumenthal the most difficult orders 
she received, and the most artistic creations that 
went from her establishment were the work of 


6o 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


poor Louise’s thin little fingers. But she was not 
paid in proportion to her labor or her talent; 
still, what she earned helped to eke out her small 
income and enable her to exist. 

After Cousin Franz had so cleverly settled the 
future of the mother, he laid out a plan for the 
education of the child. Seraph had an uncommon 
talent for music. Louise was an excellent pianiste. 
She had studied the piano while she was learning 
to sing, for her mother had said that she could 
never be a 'premiere unless she understood the 
technique of music. Therefore her hands had 
labored as well as her voice to become flexible, 
and easily subservient to her will, and her head 
had ached over scales, chords, and fugues, but the 
result was great excellence in technique^ a thorough 
knowledge of rudiments, and a superior style of 
fingering. All this. Cousin Franz decided, must be 
imparted to Seraph, in order that she might be- 
come a teacher of the piano when she was of a 
suitable age. 

“ My dear Louise,” he said in his serious, au- 
thoritative tone, — for he always spoke as though 
he were preaching, — ^^it is the only future for 
Seraph, — lucrative and thoroughly respectable. She 


COUSIN FRANZ. 


6i 


must practise at least three hours a day now, and 
from four to six when she is older, and you must 
be very careful that she does not contract bad 
habits; she will need no other teacher than your- 
self until she is twelve or thereabouts. Then we 
must find some way to finish her. She must be 
launched by a celebrated professional, and the 
success of her future is assured.” 

Cousin Franz had always known that Seraph 
had a turbulent nature, that she was impetuous, 
ardent, and passionate ; but he believed that 
children, like horses, should be broken, that they 
could be curbed, check-reined, trained to harness, 
and even punished severely if they were refrac- 
tory, and that by proper discipline the most stub- 
born little soul could be brought to a state of 
docility and submission. But he had overesti- 
mated the value of his theory. Severity had no 
effect upon Seraph. Poor little Louise! her gentle 
heart, aching and trembling, had tried coercion, 
and even mild forms of punishment. More she 
could not do — one might as well expect a dove to 
fret and peck its young, as for that frail and 
tender little mother to constantly thwart and 
restrain the child she adored. 


62 


SEJiAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


The only law that Seraph recognized was the 
law of love. For love of her mother she tried to 
study the piano, she tried heroically to practise 
the allotted time, but very seldom did she succeed 
in performing her distasteful duty. Her little^ 
soul was in the violin, and had she been allowed, 
she would have practised on that for hours, joy- 
fully and unweariedly. Nor could she understand 
why one instrument was more desirable than an- 
other. It was the music, the melody, the har- 
mony, the uplifting and outpouring, the impassioned 
utterance, that carried her out of herself, and made 
her long for the intimate understanding which every 
true artist must have with his instrument. 

Although Seraph loved her mother dearly, she 
felt at times that there was some injustice and 
not a little cruelty in depriving her of an inno- 
cent pleasure, as well as preventing her from be- 
coming an adept in a study which she had fixed 
upon in the very depths of her heart as her future 
vocation. However, with uncommon intelligence, 
she understood something of the struggle her 
mother was enduring, and secretly blamed Cousin 
Franz as the cause of all her trouble, all the discords 
and disagreements of her life. But for him and 


COUSIN FRANZ. 


63 


his long sermons she knew that there would be 
perfect harmony between her and her clmre petite 
mamanj that she would be left in peace to practise 
on her violin, and dream undisturbed her bright 
dreams of future success. 

She was not a selfish, ungenerous child ; she 
thought first of her mother, her gentle uncomplain- 
ing little mother, bound always to her chair, bend- 
ing her tired, childlike head over her colored 
muslins and silks, fashioning them with infinite 
care and patience into such exquisite imitations of 
nature that one could almost feel their perfume. 
Sometimes Seraph would snatch the stained fingers 
to her lips and kiss them passionately. Then the 
mother would lean her head against the child, and 
they would cry together. 

There was a stunted Lamarque rose running up 
on the shaded end of the little gallery. And 
Madame Blumenthal often watched its restrained 
growth. Sometimes a feeble yellow shoot would 
struggle forth and turn directly to a ray of sun- 
light that touched for an hour or so her small 
window. Then how it would grow and grow ; the 
sickly yellow would change to living green ; tufts 
of leaves would start out as if by magic. It 


64 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

seemed to throb with joyful surprise, as it strained 
up and up toward heaven by the pathway of the 
sun. 

In the springing ardent growth of the rose she 
understood something of Seraph’s longings and 
ambitions. Ah,” she would say, with suppressed 
impatience, why, why, must I force the child 
to grow another way ? Why cannot I let her 
reach up to the sun untrammelled and free ? ” 


IX. 


A GEKMAN INTERIOR. 


OUSIN FRANZ was very comfortably settled 



as to his mundane affairs. A year before 
the death of Carl Blumenthal he had married a 
widow with one little girl, and beside her child 
the young widow had other substantial possessions, 
— a plain but commodious house, surrounded by 
a large garden, together with a snug little fort- 
une, well invested in good securities. She was a 
member of Cousin Franz’s congregation and very 
active in good works, a practical, commonplace, 
and rather narrow person, devoted to her house- 
hold, her child, and her church. If she and her 
house — which was not far from Cousin Franz’s 
place of worship — had been especially created and 
built for him, they could not have suited him better. 

It was true that she was several years older 
than the young minister, and not at all pretty. 
She had a broad, colorless German face, stolid and 
mild ; light eyes, very far apart, which gave her 
an air of surprise and incredulity ; and a comfort- 

F 65 


66 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


able breadth of figure made her appear older even 
than she was. 

Her little daughter Madge, a nice, prim child, 
looked extremely like a small Dutch picture. She 
had the broad face and large, light eyes of her 
mother ; her forehead was very high, and her soft, 
fawn-colored hair was combed severely back, and 
hung in a thick sleek braid below her waist. 
Her plain, dark frocks were finished with a white 
frill at the neck, and the long sleeves came down 
to her little thumbs. She was very gentle and 
docile, — a perfectly plastic lump of clay in the 
hands of that clever potter. Cousin Franz, who 
was moulding and forming her into a vessel of 
wonderful perfection. 

If she ever suffered from the process, her calm, 
patient little face did not show it. She seemed 
contented and passively happy. She was very 
industrious in school and out of it. The duty 
of each hour was laid down with the rigidity of 
the laws of the Medes and Persians. Her recrea- 
tion consisted of a prim walk with Cousin Franz, 
when she must not look to the right nor left, 
but advance in a straight line, with toes at the 
right angle and head stiffly erect. 


A GERMAN INTERIOR. 


67 


In regard to deportment, Cousin Franz was a 
severe disciplinarian, a thorough martinet, and 
there must be no deviation from the narrow lines 
laid down for the instruction of his little step- 
daughter. When this walk, which was more like 
a dress parade, was over, she was allowed a 
half-hour in the ugly garden, where she must not 
hop or run, pluck a flower, soil her frock, or step 
on the stiff borders. Then there was so much 
time at the piano, so much time at her German, 
and so much time at her darning; and after that 
the Bible lesson, the evening prayers, and then 
to bed. 

Madge had given each of her parents a cold 
kiss, and was on her way to her room, unbutton- 
ing her frock, with much struggling and shrug- 
ging as she went ; the time allotted to her for 
the duties of her toilet was very short, and her 
little fawn-colored head must be on its pillow at 
the stroke of eight. 

Cousin Franz and his wife sat together in the 
study. There were a number of well-filled book- 
shelves, a large useful desk, where Cousin Franz 
prepared his sermons, a roomy table, on it a few 
plain books, and a reading-lamp covered with a 


68 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


green shade. Around the table were some stiff 
leather-covered chairs ; and against the wall a 
high-backed leather-covered sofa repelled all ad- 
vances toward intimacy. It was very evident 
that the occupants of the room were orderly 
souls, so precise and stiff were their surroundings. 
There were no pictures, no ornaments, no little 
trifles, which give a familiar and homelike air to 
even the humblest place. Everything was cold, 
colorless, and formal, yet withal simple and 
peaceful. 

Madame Arnet, in a severe black gown, stitched 
industriously at her needlework, while Cousin Franz 
slowly turned the leaves of a very old book, quite 
absorbed in its yellow pages. At length he looked 
up and said, in a voice of extreme satisfaction. 

Yes, yes, this is a bargain, Rachel. I have not 
the least doubt that this is a genuine Robert 
Etienne. Here is the date, Paris, 1515, perfectly 
legible, and I have learned that there were a num- 
ber of this edition of Justin Martyr printed. I 
have no doubt but that it is an antique.” 

It’s old and dirty enough to be one,” returned 
Madame Arnet indifferently. To me it seems 
worth very little.” 


A GERMAN INTERIOR. 


69 


^^Ah, I daresay it does seem worthless to you. 
My poor Kachel, I don’t expect you to appreciate 
it,” said Cousin Franz, with gentle sarcasm. You 
are not a lover of books, especially of old books; 
but Monsieur Nardi, whom I consider an authority, 
thinks it one of the gems of the collection that 
he made in Paris. However, there are others which 
I should prefer did my means allow me to become 
their owner. An undoubted Aldine, 1595, and a 
Yirgil of the Barbou Collection, almost worth their 
weight in gold to collectors. But I can’t expect 
to own such treasures. I should be, and I am, 
thankful for this.” 

From these remarks we can learn that Cousin 
Franz had one weakness, and that was a love for 
old books, which was not shared by his highly 
practical wife. She did not understand why he 
should be enthusiastic over such a musty old 
volume ; so she made no response to his self-con- 
gratulations, and her face was a perfect blank as 
she stitched away industriously. 

Presently, she broke the silence by saying irrele- 
vantly, ^^Dear me, Mr. Arnet, I’m really worried 
about that Stengel girl. I think her voice is 
going since she had influenza, and if she can’t 


70 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


sing, what will we do ? There isn’t another girl 
in onr church who can take her place.” 

Cousin Franz made no reply. He was examin- 
ing, with a magnifying-glass, an ornamented initial 
letter, and Madame Arnet meandered on. There’s 
another thing, Mr. Arnet, that I’d like to speak 
about. I think Miss Knoop wears her hair frizzed 
too much over her forehead. I don’t think it’s 
quite respectable for an organist in our church. 
Couldn’t you speak to her ? I mean, couldn’t you 
give her a hint to comb it back. And the tenor 
whispers and laughs too much with the alto. It’s 
really shocking. I don’t think our choir comes 
up to the expectations of the congregation. As 
you are so particular with children, I should think 
you’d discipline those who ought to know better. 
Since the Metzes have taken two front pews, new 
people have come in. It looks well to see a car- 
riage and coachman in livery drive up to a church, 
and I think we ought to have a new cover for 
the desk, as you are bringing in fashionable 
people.” 

Still not a word from Cousin Franz. He was 
too busy with his magnifying-glass, and patient 
Madame Arnet subsided into silence, only broken 


A GERMAN INTERIOR. 


71 


by the sharp tick-tick of her needle as it passed 
through the stiff cloth. 

At length Cousin Franz closed the new posses- 
sion with a reluctant sigh, and pushing it aside, 
said in rather a vexed tone, ‘-I don’t know what 
is to be done with that child.” 

Who ? What child ? You don’t mean 
Madge?” cried Madame Arnet, startled out of her 
composure. 

No, no indeed ; if it were Madge, I should 
Itnow what to do. It’s Seraph again.” 

Oh ! it’s Seraph again,” echoed Madame Arnet 
comfortably, quite as though it were a matter of 
course. 

To-day, after I left Monsieur Nardi’s shop, I 
called on Cousin Louise, and I found her very much 
discouraged about Seraph. The child is stubborn 
and disobedient. She can’t get her to practise 
her piano lessons.” 

I’m not surprised ; your Cousin Louise has in- 
dulged Seraph until she has lost control over her. 
I began with Madge — ” 

My dear Rachel, please don’t deceive yourself ; 
when I took Madge in hand, I found her deport- 
ment — her training, very — very defective. Seraph 


72 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


has never had the benefit of my discipline; there- 
fore what can we expect of a turbulent, self- 
willed child left to a frail, injudicious mother.’' 

“ No, we can’t expect her to be like Madge,” 
said Madame Arnet meekly; ^^she hasn’t had 
Madge’s advantages.” 

Louise said she wished Seraph could be more 
with Madge. She thought Madge’s example might 
benefit her.” 

Oh no ! oh my, no 1 I want Madge to see very 
little of Seraph. Such a light, trifling child, crazy 
over a violin. Not a decent instrument for a 
girl. They tell me she has old Romeo for an 
audience and plays on her violin, dressed in her 
mother’s old finery. Madge knows nothing of 
such folly, and I don’t intend she shall.” 

‘^Seraph must be saved from herself,” continued 
Cousin Franz severely. She must be properly 
educated, she must be forced to study. I told 
Louise that the time had come for decided action, 
and the weak, indulgent creature only cried and 
said she could not be l^arsh with Seraph. There 
is only one thing to be done : that violin must be 
taken from her.” 

^^Yes, it must be taken from her,” repeated 
Madame Arnet. 


A GERMAN INTERIOR. 


73 


If she has no violin, she can’t waste her time, 
and then, besides, Louise ought not to keep that vio- 
lin. It is a very valuable instrument, a del Gesu of 
Guarnerius. Carl considered it worth a great deal. 
They need the money, and it is clearly my duty 
to sell it, if I can find a customer.” 

Then why not do it at once and end the 
trouble ? ” said Madame Arnet placidly. 

I mentioned it to-day to Louise, and she was 
decidedly against it. She said it would be cruel 
to the child, and all such absurd nonsense.” 

You are Seraph’s guardian ; don’t consult Louise. 
Take the violin quietly without her knowing it, 
and when you have sold it, there is an end of 
Seraph’s folly. She will get over her childish 

sentiment for the violin, and will take to the 

piano.” 

agree with you, Rachel. I think you have 
put it very clearly. It is a disagreeable duty, 
but I owe it to Carl as well as to the child. Her 
future career depends on her present training. 
Yes, that violin must be taken from her, and I 

must find some means of disposing of it. How- 

ever, I will consider the matter very fully before 
I act, but act I must.” 


X. 


FRIENDS ALL. 



IROM the moment when Monsieur Nardi gave 


Seraph the box of bon-bons from Paris, the 
child’s heart went out to the gentle old man with 
strong affection, and he in turn felt the deepest 
interest in his beautiful, talented little neighbor. 
Suddenly, without expectation or preparation, two 
singularly attractive children had come into his 
life. He had always had his small favorites, he 
had been Oncle ’Nidas to half the children in the 
neighborhood in a desultory sort of way, but none 
of them had taken a strong hold on his heart, as 
these two had. 

His little protege Marc, after several weeks’ 
trial, had not disappointed him. He was obe- 
dient, industrious, and useful, and often he found 
himself wondering how he had managed to get 
along without such a boy. Already he was quite 
a companion as well as an assistant, and so intelli- 
gent and trustworthy that Monsieur Nardi allowed 


74 


FRIENDS ALL. 


75 


him to wait on his customers. If the boy ever 
neglected a duty, it was when he was so entirely 
absorbed in an interesting book as to become 
oblivious to time and place. There was some- 
thing a little abnormal in his craving — his hunger, 
one might call it — for books, especially for books 
of history and biography. Curled up in some 
quiet corner, with a book before him, he was 
often forgetful of time and the requirements of 
his position. 

Monsieur Nardi was very indulgent and gentle. 
Sometimes when he really needed him he would 
not disturb him. 

I was so once myself,” he would say, remem- 
bering the hunger, the unsatisfied hunger, of his 
own childhood. Let him get his fill, let him 
read until he is tired. My own experience would 
be worth nothing if it did not teach me tolerance. 
At heart the boy is good and honest, and I mean 
to make a man of him.” 

But Cressy was less patient than her master. 
Often the boy would forget his meals ; then the 
old woman would ^^wake him,” as she called it, 
with no gentle shake, and bid him to move 
around lively and earn his keep. 


76 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


^^Wliy aren’t you helping the master? If you’ve 
nothing to do in the shop, there’s plenty in the 
garden to keep you busy. The flower beds need 
weeding, and the walks are full of grass. You 
can dig the grass from between the bricks better 
than I can ; your back’s younger than mine. I’d 
even rather see you out here playing with Mon- 
key and Toto than everlastingly with a book. For 
my part, I don’t see much in books to make people 
deaf, dumb, and lazy. My boy, if you want to get 
on, you’ve got to work more and read less.” 

Marc would laugh and flush guiltily, promising 
the old tyrant to mend his ways ; but at the first 
opportunity he would again have his nose in the 
objectionable book. 

When Monsieur Nardi overheard Cressy rating 
his protege, he did not reprove her, but, one morn- 
ing, he said with careful diplomacy : 

Cressy, ma tonne femme, I think that now 
our family has increased, you need some help 
about the yard and garden. Can’t you engage 
that old servant next door to assist you ? He 
seems a good, honest creature. Let him keep the 
court in order, and do odd jobs. I should like 
him to sweep the shop and sidewalk. He can 


FRIENDS ALL. 


77 


be very useful. I know his mistress has not 
sufficient work to keep him busy, and she will be 
very glad to have him earn something outside. 
And, Cressy, don’t be quite so economical in your 
marketing. Remember, ma honne, that we have 
another to feed, a growing boy; and then this old 
man, if he does extra work, he will need extra 
food. Give him plenty of good strong soup, and a 
chop, now and then, to take home and cook for 
his supper. And couldn’t you occasionally spare 
a chicken out of your coop ? Anything that is 
left over will be useful to him, and I shall be‘ 
glad if you will help him. The old and feeble 
need plenty of nourishing food. And while I 
think of it, Cressy, buy more fruit at market. 
Children like fruit, and old children like it too ; 
nest ce pas., ma femme? Still another thing. 
After this you can put two plates at my table. 
I have decided to have Marc take his meals with 
me. He is very neat about his person, and now 
I want to teach him to eat, as well as to speak, 
properly. Do you understand?” 

This a little severely, seeing Cressy’ s frown, 
and hearing her mutter, A little street gamin^ 
Monsieur Leonidas, at the table with you?” 


78 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Yes, Cressy, at the table with me. I mean to 
adopt the boy, and he must be taught to eat prop- 
erly. Do as I wish, and we will continue to be 
good friends.” 

Cressy said no more, but heroically prepared to 
do her master’s bidding. It was hard ; it was an 
awful blow to all her prejudices, but it was her 
master’s order, and Monsieur Leonidas Nardi must 
be obeyed, especially when he spoke in that tone. 

To the first part of his instructions she readily 
agreed ; for she was very kindly disposed toward 
poor old Romeo, who knew a sure way to the 
heart of his dusky neighbor. A little judicious 
flattery had warmed and softened the aged tyrant, 
and already a great many choice compliments, as 
well as a number of dainty morsels, had crossed 
the fence between the two yards. 

Romeo never partook of Cressy’ s generous dona- 
tions, although often his mouth watered for them. 
Every scrap was carefully carried to Louise’s little 
pantry and served to his young mistress and her 
child, with many small deceptions and prevarica- 
tions, which we sincerely hope were not set down 
to the poor old negro’s account. 

Food was scarce in the little household. A great 


FRIENDS ALL. 


79 


calamity had fallen upon them. The musical 
director in Berlin had, on account of old age and 
illness, lost his position, and therefore Madame 
Blumenthal’s small allowance was stopped, which 
meant the most pinching poverty for the mother 
and child. The little wage Louise earned by her 
work barely paid her rent, and for the first time, 
want, like a gaunt spectre, stood before her and 
looked her gloomily in the face. 

Cressy had learned of this new misfortune from 
Romeo, and Monsieur Nardi had learned of it 
from Cressy ; hence his sudden interest in Romeo’s 
cuisine. 

Any morning early some such conversation might 
be heard across the fence : 

‘^Miss Cressy, is you dar? How’s yer healf dis 
fine mawnin’ ? ” 

Bien, tres bien, Romeo.” 

^^Well, you is suttenly a smart lady to be in 
from market so soon. Fur a fac’, yer does make 
marketin’ early. My Miss Louise she doan’ sen’ 
me ’twill arter breakfus, ’cause she gits up mighty 
late, she does.” 

Poor Madame, she is ill ; and then she hasn’t 
any call to get up early, as I have. But won’t you 


8o 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


take a cup of early coffee, Romeo ? I dripped 
plenty. Have cafe au lait or cafe noir f ” 

‘^Well, I’ll take a drop o’ bofe if yer doan’ mine, 
Miss Cressy. Yer does make sich good coffee ; more 
excellenter I never tasted. I’s ben a good cook in 
my day, an’ I know what good coffee is.” 

hien, Romeo, and have a mlche with it, 
and a saucer of cream cheese. No one but the boy 
eats cream cheese, and there’s too much for him ; 
and I know you’ll like a little pat of butter with 
your miclfier 

‘‘ Thank yer, thank yer. Miss Cressy ; you’s sure 
got a large heart an’ a gen’rous han’. Bress der 
Lor’ for sich a lady as yer is.” 

That’s nothing, Romeo ; I like to give to them 
that deserves it. After you get your work done, 
come around. You’ll find the gate locked; but 
ring, and I’ll let you in. I’ve got a little job 
for you, and there’ll be something for your 
dinner.” 

Oh, Miss Cressy, what a fine, han’ sum lady you 
is ! I’m in luck ter have sich a frien’ in my ole 
age.” 

^^And, Romeo, I’ll pay you the four bits I owe 
you for cleaning the windows.” 


FRIENDS ALL. 


8l 


no, yer doan’ owe me nofin’, Miss Cressy. 
I’s willin’ ter do eny lil’ job fur yer, when yer so 
’stremely good ter me.” 

Oh, you must take the money. Monsieur 
Leonidas won’t like it if you don’t. He’s very 
particular about paying people who work for 
him.” 

Well, well. I’ll be ’roun’ by an’ by. You 
suttenly is a fine lady.” 

Then Cressy would go back to her kitchen with 
a grim smile on her severe face ; and Romeo 
would slip into the little pantry to prepare his 
mistress’s breakfast. 

A little later perhaps another small comedy 
would be played in the front of the two houses. 
Seraph, looking like a morning rose, the rnists of 
sleep still in her drowsy eyes, would come out to 
the little front garden to gather a few flowers for 
her mother’s breakfast table, a pretty little atten- 
tion which she never neglected, and Monsieur 
Nardi was sure to be sitting in the shop door, 
reading his morning paper. 

He would not appear to see Seraph just at first, 
but would keep on reading as intently as though 
there were some new sensation in the closely 


82 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE, 


scanned columns. After a while he would look 
up and smile and bow with old-fashioned formal- 
ity. Then Seraph’s eyes would sparkle, all the 
sleep gone out of them in an instant, and she 
would hasten to open the gate. Skipping along 
the walk and holding out her posy, Are not they 
pretty?” she would call. They’re for petite ma- 
man, but you shall smell them.” 

When she reached Monsieur Nardi’s side, her 
hand was held out eagerly to be clasped in his 
cordial grasp, and he would say with kind cere- 
mony, ^‘Bon jour, Mademoiselle; a pleasant morn- 
ing, is it not? and Madame, your mother, is she 
well ? ” 

To which Seraph would reply with her piquant 
accent, Bon jour, Oncle ’Midas. Mamma is always 
the same.” 

After these little compliments were exchanged. 
Monsieur Nardi would smell her flowers and dis- 
cuss the beauty of each. Then he would ask her 
in for a moment, just to say hon jour to Marc, 
who would be busy dusting and arranging the 
books, looking sedately happy the while. The 
breakfast table would be laid in the sitting-room, 
and there was sure to be a large dish of fruit. 


FRIENDS ALL. 


83 


Monsieur Nardi would select the choicest, arrange 
some grape leaves on a pretty plate, which he 
would fill and hand to Seraph, saying with a 
cheery smile, For the breakfast of Madame et 
Mademoiselle'' 

Merci, merci hien, Oncle 'JSFidas," and Seraph, 
her little face full of morning sunshine, would 
hasten to her mother with her fiowers and fruit. 


XI. 


AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. 

S ERAPH had made an agreement with her 
mother which she was resolutely trying to 
keep. She had promised to practise the piano 
faithfully three hours each day, and to give up her 
masquerading on the little platform if her mother 
would allow her to play the violin three times a 
week in Monsieur Nardi’s sitting-room directly 
after his dinner. 

To this Madame Blumenthal consented. It was 
a great pleasure for Seraph as well as for her 
appreciative little audience, which consisted of 
Monsieur Nardi, Marc, and some of the neighbors’ 
children, while Cressy stood in the door in a state 
of enchantment, her eyes closed and her dignified 
old head wagging back and forth in time with the 
bewitching strains. 

On these occasions Seraph was radiant. Mon- 
sieur Nardi had made for her a raised platform of 
a large, flat box covered with a rug, and placed 
84 


AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. 


85 


beside it a small table, on which always stood a 
bunch of fresh flowers. She was very sensitive 
to her environment, and this arrangement gave 
importance to the occasion, and acted as a stimu- 
lant on her artistic and impressionable nature. 
The only flaw in the perfection of the whole was 
that she could not appear in her usual toilet ; 
however, she wore her best white frock and faded 
sash, which were rather shabby, but still helped to 
give an air of festivity to the scene. 

Sometimes the . child played so well, with so 
much passion and power, that Monsieur Nardi 
regretted that there was not a larger audience to 
hear her. Although he enjoyed her playing keenly, 
it nevertheless had the effect of saddening him, and 
in spite of his efforts to forget, it brought back 
vividly the memory of the disappointment of his 
life. 

The dear old gentleman had had his romance, 
long ago, when his young head was covered with 
soft curling hair and his eyes were brown and 
bright. He was so young, so poor, so obscure, 
when his heart was first touched, and the object of 
his adoration was so far above him, so worshipped 
and flattered by the rich and powerful, that he 


86 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


scarcely dared to raise his reverent eyes toward 
her. How beautiful she was, with her flower-like 
face, her beaming eyes, her adorable smile ! To 
the poor bookworm, shut up within the narrow 
bounds of the dark, musty shop, she seemed like a 
beautiful vision. Even now a strain of music, the 
pink petals of a rose, the perfume of jasmine, had 
the power to carry him back to those foolish old 
days ; to soften his heart like melted wax, to All 
his eyes with hot tears, to make him again a dis- 
appointed heart-sick boy. 

And Seraph’s eyes and smile were like hers. 
Yes, she had the same sweet brown eyes, the same 
innocent, half-mirthful, half-saddened smile. There- 
fore it was no wonder that the child had won 
her way into his innermost heart, and that he was 
always thinking and planning how to give her 
some pleasure, or some real assistance without 
seeming obtrusive or wounding the delicate sen- 
sibilities of the mother. 

After these little musicals were over, and Seraph 
descended from her platform amid applause quite 
loud enough to gratify her ambition, and bring the 
flush of joy to her pale little face, Cressy would have 
some dainty ready to serve, — an ice with tiny cakes, 


AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. 


87 


or fruit and bon-bons, — and Monsieur Nardi’s little 
sitting-room would resound with the merry unaf- 
fected laughter of children ; and Marc, although 
a little awkward and shy, a natural result of his 
neglected childhood, entered into the spirit of the 
scene with a zest that surprised his benefactor. 
His natural good taste, his imitativeness, his efforts 
at self-improvement, were a constant satisfaction. 

He has the stuff in him,” the old gentleman 
would say to himself, and I mean to give him a 
chance. I mean to educate him and make him my 
successor.” 

While Monsieur Nardi was making his benevo- 
lent plans, and while Seraph was enjoying her 
small triumphs, poor little Louise sat alone in her 
dull room, with her stained finger-tips pressed to 
her tired eyes, trying to think of some means of 
improving their sad condition. 

‘^Spring is coming,” she thought, ^^and we shan’t 
need much fuel nor light now that the days are 
getting so warm and the sun sets so late. It’s 
astonishing how far Romeo makes the market 
money go. I give him so little, and he gets so 
much. Marketing must be very cheap this spring. 
But Seraph will need clothes ; she grows so tall. 


88 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINLSTE, 


I’ve made everything over as long as I can. I’ve 
nothing more to fall back on. Poor child ! she 
needs shoes now, and a hat. It makes my heart 
ache to see her so shabby. If Cousin Rachel 
would only think. She has so much money; she 
might give Seraph something now and then. I 
should be so glad if she would give her Madge’s 
cast-off things. I have no pride, — it’s all gone in 
the face of this terrible poverty,” — and the hot 
tears sprang to her eyes and glistened under the 
closed lids. Oh, Carl ! Carl ! if you were only 
here ! ” she sobbed; ^‘you were so good, so tender, 
so generous, and now I have no one. Ah, I must 
not be ungrateful,” and struggling to regain her 
composure, she dashed away the tears, and set her- 
self to thinking again of ways and means. 

I know Cousin Franz would help me if he 
could, and our dear old neighbor is so thought- 
ful. I mustn’t be ungrateful, and I must not be 
weak and complaining ; I must try to do more 
work. I must get up earlier and work later. Oh, 
if Madame Croizet would only pay me a little 
more, and if there was any way to retrench ! 
There is only one thing that I can give up, and 
that is the Ducro Elixir. It costs a dollar a 


AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. 89 

bottle, and that is a great deal ; but Dr. Beau- 
jean says I must have it. It gives me strength 
to work. I don’t know whether I can keep up 
without it, but I must try. We must have food; 
Seraph must have shoes. If I could make up 
my mind to let Cousin Franz sell Carl’s violin ; 
but I can’t — I can’t take it from the child. It 
may come to that, however. We can’t starve, 
and we can’t accept charity while we have any- 
thing of value. Oh, how hard life is to the poor 
and helpless ! But I won’t despair ; God raises up 
friends for the unfortunate, and when he takes 
away one support, he sometimes gives us another.” 

Often these sad cogitations would be interrupted 
by Seraph rushing in from her concert, flushed and 
happy, her violin under her arm, and her active 
little hands full of some offering for her mother. 

Uncle ’Nidas sends this with his compliments, 
a tonne touche jpour petite maman^' and Seraph 
would nestle against her mother, while she chat- 
tered as fast as her tongue could fly. 

Oh, mamma, such a success ! I played my 
sonata better than ever. I know Uncle ’Nidas 
liked it; he looked as if he wanted to cry; and 
Marc, and even that little lame Jacques, just 


90 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


jumped up and down, they were so pleased with 
my caprice. And Uncle ’Nidas says that I play 
well enough to have a larger audience, and that 
he will ask some friends to hear me. Think of 
that, little mamma! Soon, soon I can give big con- 
certs and earn money for you. Then your dear 
red and green fingers will get white again, and 
you shall never see flowers, only the real flowers 
that grow and bloom for you ; and you shall be 
well, mamma ; you shall walk and perhaps sing. 
Who knows ? perhaps you will dance like this.” 
And Seraph would spring up and whirl around 
the room as light as a bird, as brilliant as a 
butterfly. 


XII. 


TWO CUSTOMERS. 



NE morning Monsieur Nardi had two impor- 


tant customers. The first was Madame St. 
Maxent, who drove up in her fine carriage, with 
a glossy black coachman, and glossy black but- 
tons, a long-haired Russian poodle, that lay in 
the bottom of the carriage and served for a rug 
when the weather was chilly, and two frisky fox 
terriers, nicely spotted, with ears and tails of the 
fashionable length. 

Madame St. 'Maxent was an elegante in every 
sense of the word. To begin with, she was of 
good family ; she was a very rich widow, and 
her elegant mansion on Esplanade Avenue was 
the envy of her acquaintances as well as a 
large number of her friends. She had the hand- 
somest carriages, the finest horses, the blackest, 
glossiest servants, the rarest dogs, and the most 
costly wardrobe of any one in the smart set. She 
was an amateur in art and music, a connoisseuse 


91 


92 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


in pictures, bric-a-brac, and old books, a leader in 
all social affairs, a patroness of talent, and best 
of all, a generous, large-hearted woman, who was 
a power in the community. 

If a poverty-stricken genius, who was eating his 
heart out in obscurity, could enlist the interest and 
patronage of Madame St. Maxent, he would sud- 
denly find himself launched, and sailing trium- 
phantly, the wind of her approval swelling his sails, 
and speeding him on his voyage swiftly and suc- 
cessfully. 

After Monsieur Nardi returned from Paris, he sent 
this most important customer, and, without boasting, 
he could say friend, — for the fashionable woman felt 
a sincere regard for the modest old scholar, — a neat 
catalogue of his new books, as well as of the rare 
antiques he had collected during his absence. There- 
fore he had been expecting a visit from her daily. 

When she entered the little shop with breezy 
cheerfulness, followed by her three dogs. Monsieur 
Nardi with a beaming face came forward to 
meet her, smiling and bowing with old-fashioned 
ceremony. 

AJi mon cher ami,'' she exclaimed heartily. I 
am so glad to get here at last. I have been so 


TH^O CUSTOMERS. 


93 


occupied, so many engagements, that this is my first 
opportunity, and I mean to make the most of it.’' 

At this moment the three dogs, who were less 
well-bred than their mistress, showed marked signs 
of hostility to the modest little Monkey, who had 
taken refuge on the highest chair, where Toto sat 
with his little hand over his face, as though shocked 
at such unfriendliness. 

It was necessary to send the dogs to the carriage 
and banish Monkey and the marmoset to the back 
room before Madame St. Maxent and Monsieur 
Nardi could proceed with their exchange of friendly 
compliments. 

Ah, how well you are looking ; your trip has 
done you a world of good. You must be at least 
ten years younger. Paris, beautiful Paris, has the 
charm of perpetual youth. I can see by your bright, 
happy face that you have been to the very fountain 
head of knowledge, that you have had some deli- 
cious draughts. Now tell me what you have dis- 
covered, what new wonder you have seen.” And 
the lively lady rushed on in a perfect torrent of 
small talk, her high-pitched, vivacious voice quite 
drowning Monsieur Nardi’s modest remarks. Yes, 
yes, Aldines and Elzevirs — charming, delightful, 


94 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


And is it true that you have brought me a Delphin 
with variorum notes ? ” 

It is really true, Madame. I have a genuine 
antique,” replied Monsieur Nardi, his face beaming 
with pleasure. I thought of you when I discovered 
it, and ventured to buy it, although it came high. 
They are rare, extremely rare, and the Elzevir is 
good, — a Pliny, 1636.” 

1636 Elzevir, — how interesting! How charm- 
ing ! But show me all your treasures, and, my dear 
friend, be very considerate. Remember my weak- 
ness. Please don’t let me have all I want.” 

Monsieur Nardi laughed pleasantly as he spread 
the books on a table and drew up a chair for 
Madame St. Maxent. At a sign Marc had taken 
each bouquin carefully from a glass-covered case, 
and dusted it with an old silk handkerchief. 

This is in very good condition,” said Madame 
St. Maxent, examining the Delphin reverently. I 
must have it, mon ami, and we won’t haggle. I 
know you won’t overcharge me. Ah, really ; a 
vellum Aldine ? Now you have touched my very 
weakest point. I adore vellum. You may put 
that with the Delphin.” 

I had another Aldine, a Theocritus, 1595, which 



MADAME ST. MAXENT VISITS MONSIEUR NARDI’S SHOP 






TIVO CUSTOMERS. 


95 


I sold a few days ago to a young Lutheran min- 
ister,” said Monsieur Nardi, with a little regret in 
his tone. Although it is an advantage to dispose 
of them — will you believe it ? — I hate to part with 
my treasures.” 

Then followed a long discussion on livres 
d' occasion^ very learned and highly interesting to 
a houquiner, about the veracity of a Venice Boiardo, 
the genuineness of a Verard, and the condition of 
several volumes from the Barbou collection, the 
excellence of the various Foulis editions, and the 
authenticity of a copy of Brandt’s ^^Ship of Fools.” 
After that, bindings were touched upon, — the rival 
merits of Grolier and Payne ; and Monsieur Nardi 
convinced Madame St. Maxent that a book they 
were examining had an original Grolier binding, 
by tracing out the nearly obliterated motto, Gro- 
lieri et Amicorum. 

After Madame St. Maxent had made a selection 
of the books she desired, aired her knowledge, and 
discussed her pet hobby to her heart’s content, she 
arose to go. Then Monsieur Nardi remembered to 
ask after the health of Maurice, her only child, a 
boy of sixteen, who was a violin virtuoso of much 
skill and talent. 


96 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Maurice ? Oh, Maurice is very well, thank you, 
and as much as ever interested in his violin. I 
often tell him that if he only had the spur of 
poverty to drive him on, the world might hear 
of him ; as it is, he will never be anything but an 
amateur.” 

Oh, Madame, I have a little neighbor, a little 
girl who plays the violin comine un petit ange. I 
wish you could hear her ; she is wonderful, she is 
a prodigy ! ” 

Monsieur Nardi spoke so earnestly, so feelingly, 
that Madame St. Maxent looked at him with some 
curiosity as she replied, “ As a general thing, I do 
not like infant prodigies, but as she is a protege 
of yours, if you wish it, I will arrange to hear her 
some day ; and perhaps I can help her along. You 
know, my friend, you can always count on me. I 
will think it over and let you know what I can 
do.” 

“ Merely merci bien,'' returned Monsieur Nardi 
warmly, as he handed Madame St. Maxent to her 
carriage. “ I am much interested in the child ; she 
is fatherless and poor, and so lovely and talented. 
If T can depend on you to assist me, I think she 
has a successful future before her.” 


TWO CUSTOMERS. 


97 


Well, we will see what can be done; aurevoivy 
771071 ami, au revoir et hientot'^ And Madame St. 
Maxent drove away well satisfied with her visit. 

Scarcely had she gone, and before Monsieur 
Nardi had time to return his antiques to their 
case, another customer entered. It was Cousin 
Franz, and his long, serious face wore an expres- 
sion of perplexity and disappointment. After a 
few desultory remarks, he said reluctantly : 

I am very sorry. Monsieur Nardi, that I cannot 
take the Foulis Horace as I hoped to do when I 
was last here. Circumstances have occurred which 
make it necessary to save the money I intended 
to spend on it. I would not be justified in indulg- 
ing myself at present. If in the future I can see 
my way clear, and it is not sold, I will take it ; 
but please do not retain it for me.” 

As you like. Monsieur,” replied Monsieur Nardi 
cheerfully. “ If in the meantime I find a customer 
for this copy, I daresay, when you wish it, I can 
procure you another.” 

After Cousin Franz had ordered a few books of 
less value than the Foulis, and had looked over the 
new catalogue with the feeling of a hungry man 
who sees food before him and cannot partake of it. 


H 


98 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

he went away in a not very amiable frame of 
mind. 

He wanted to look in on Louise, to learn if 
Seraph still adhered to her promise to practise 
three hours a day ; but he felt that he had already 
done a great deal for his cousin’s wife and child, 
when he had denied himself the much-coveted book 
in order to save the money for their future needs. 

That same evening, Seraph came in from her visit 
to Monsieur Nardi in a state of great excitement. 

Oh, mamma,” she cried joyously. great 

lady, a rich lady who lives on Esplanade Avenue, 
has promised Uncle ’Nidas to hear me play. Per- 
haps she will invite me to her beautiful house, and 
if I please her, she will help me to become a great 
violiniste. Uncle ’Nidas says I could not have a 
better friend. Oh, mamma dearest, I must practise 
now that I am to play for Uncle ’Nidas’s friend. 
You must give me time to practise. Please excuse 
me one hour a day from the piano, so that I can 
learn a new sonata.” 

Seraph, I can’t promise you that,” returned 
Madame Blumenthal tremulously. I must con- 
sult Cousin Franz before I can consent. You know 
we must not offend Cousin Franz.” 


XIII. 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 

~TF any one had told Monsieur Nardi that he was 
not a good judge of character, he would have 
resented it as a false conclusion. 

I have never found myself mistaken when I 
have once formed an opinion of a person,” he had 
been heard to say. “ I do not decide hastily in 
one’s favor, neither do I condemn one simply on 
appearances. I must have strong evidence, and if 
the evidence is not conclusive beyond a doubt, I 
always give the accused the benefit of the doubt.” 

Without Marc being aware of it. Monsieur Nardi 
had made a great many inquiries about him. First 
he interviewed Patsy, the watchman, who spoke of 
the boy with the warmest praise. 

He’s as fine an’ honest a kid as I ever happened 
to come across, an’ fer a little wharf rat, he’s got 
the best manners an’ more good principles than 
some children that’s brought up by a daddy an’ 
mammy, in a fine house. I’ve knowed him ever 


99 


lOO 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


since I’ve been about the levee. When I got this 
job, he wasn’t more’n four years old, a runnin’ 
’round the wharves an’ luggers. An old Dago man 
named Joe used to take him off on trips, an’ sort 
o’ look after him, when he was right small, but Joe 
died of yaller fever, an’ then if I’d a had a missis, 
I’d a took the young one an’ ’dopted him, but I 
didn’t have no one to look out fer him, so I jes’ 
kep’ my eye on him here, an’ he ain’t suffered. 

^^He’s al’ays had plenty to eat, an’ a warm place 
to sleep, an’ that’s more’n a good many kids gits 
that lives in houses, an’ I’ve giv him breeches an’ 
shirts, an’ he’s been clean an’ whole, considerin’. 
No, sir, no; Dago Joe didn’t know nothin’ ’bout 
where the kid come from. I asked him many a 
time, but he didn’t know nothin’. Joe found him 
one night on an old cast-off flatboat, a cryin’ in a 
bunk, poor little kid ! all alone a cryin’, an’ he took 
him on his lugger an’ looked out for him as long 
as he lived. 

^‘That’s all I know, sir. Joe named him Marco, 
an’ we calls him Marc, for short. He’s a mighty 
sharp little chap. Jes’ look how he’s learned him- 
self to read. I tole him the letters. Yes, sir, that’s 
about all I showed him, an’ I made a few figgers 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


lOI 


on an old slate he picked up, an’ I’m be blessed if 
he wasn’t addin’ ’em up in no time, like a book- 
keeper. I tell you he’s sharp, an’ you can bet 
he’s honest. I never knew a honester kid. If he 
picked up a nickel, he couldn’t put it in his pocket 
’til he ast all ’round if it belonged to enny one.” 

Monsieur Nardi had not questioned Patsy in 
order to secure testimonial of character, but to 
try to learn something of the boy’s parentage. 
However, this spontaneous praise was very grati- 
fying to the old bookseller, and only confirmed 
him in his belief that he had uncommon discern- 
ment as far as human characteristics were con- 
cerned. In his kindly, generous heart he had 
already marked out a successful career for his little 
'protege. He would adopt him, educate him, and 
make him his successor. 

He was one of those unfortunate little waifs, 
thought Monsieur Nardi, one of those deserted 
little children who usually drifted into orphan 
asylums or houses of correction. Providence had 
ordered that this one should drift into his empty 
heart and home, and he meant to accept this gift 
gratefully, and do his very best to save the poor 
little weed, the outcast scrap of humanity, to 


102 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


plant it in new soil, to cultivate and nourish it 
until it should become a flower fit for the garden 
of the Lord. 

Full of generous intentions and strong confi- 
dence, Monsieur Nardi was in no condition to 
accept the blow that fell upon him, suddenly shat- 
tering all his well-considered plans. 

It was such a little thing, so commonplace, and 
almost vulgar, that one can hardly conceive of its 
bringing about such ruinous results. One morn- 
ing Cressy brought in the change from a flve-dollar 
note, which she had broken for her marketing, and 
handed it, as usual, to her master. Monsieur 
Nardi was standing by the open window, clipping 
some truant branches from a climbing rose. His 
hands being engaged, he told Cressy to leave 
the money on a small table beside the window, 
and after he had finished his work he went away, 
forgetting to put it in his pocket. An hour or so 
later he thought of it, and, much to his surprise, 
when he went for it, it was gone. 

In his small and well-regulated household he had 
been accustomed to finding things just where he 
placed them, and this new departure rather annoyed 
him. With some impatience in his tone he called 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


103 


to Cressy to know where she had put the money, 
and to his astonishment she told him that she had 
not seen it since she gave it to him. He had no 
cause to doubt Cressy’s word. ^For twenty years or 
more she had been his housekeeper, and he had 
had no reason to suspect her honesty. 

Thinking that Marc might have seen the money 
lying on the table and removed it to a safer place, 
he questioned him carefully and kindly, and, much 
to his disappointment, the boy said decidedly that 
he had not seen it. There was no one beside Cressy 
and Marc who could have had access to it. 

Had poor old Romeo been about the place that 
morning, he might have been suspected ; but his 
mind was at rest on that point. The side gate 
was always locked, and the old negro could not 
enter without being admitted by Cressy. There- 
fore it lay between the servant and the boy. Tt 
could not be his honest, faithful old servant. Could 
it be Marc, and he had denied it ! 

For a moment Monsieur Nardi felt cold and 
weak, and something seemed to be clutching at his 
heart. The boy stood before him, flushing and 
paling under his kindly but searching glance, and 
knowing human nature as well as he did, he thought 


104 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


this emotion indicated guilt. He intended, however, 
to be just ; he would not condemn him without posi- 
tive proof. If Marc knew that he was suspected, 
it would destroy his self-respect. Therefore, it was 
necessary to conceal his uncertainty and perplexity. 
Disguising his feelings as well as he could, he said 
with assumed cheerfulness and confidence: 

‘‘‘ Ell hien, mon enfant, I dare say it will turn up. 
We have no dishonest people about us. It can only 
be mislaid.’' 

Marc gave Monsieur Nardi a pitifully appealing 
look as he turned silently away. It seemed as 
though it were a mute entreaty for mercy. Then 
for the first time the old bookseller felt how strong 
a hold the child had on his heart. 

All day Marc went about his duties with a silent, 
dejected air, and at times Monsieur Nardi thought 
the boy looked frightened and anxious, and he had 
the timid, uncertain manner of a persecuted little 
dog who is always expecting a blow, and who from 
habit shrinks even from the hand that would 
caress it. 

That night Marc sat huddled up in the dark, in 
his little room on the back gallery. His only com- 
panion was the marmoset, who nestled close to his 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


105 


neck and patted his cheek with its little soft hands. 
He was crying silently, and Toto brushed off the 
hot tears as they fell from his eyes. Never before 
in his wretched life had he felt so utterly outcast 
and forlorn. A half-hour before, sitting there, he 
had overheard a conversation between Cressy and 
Romeo, as they talked across the high fence. They 
did not mean for him to hear it. They did not 
know he was in his room, and what he heard almost 
broke his heart. 

^^Of course,’' said Cressy, ‘Hie took the money. 
What else can you expect from a little wharf rat?” 

“ Miss Cressy, does yer think yer boss s’pects 
him?” asked Romeo. 

“ Why, certainly ; but Monsieur Leonidas is so 
good, so honest, himself, that he won’t be in a hurry 
to say so. He’ll hope the money’ll be found, and 
then when it don’t turn up he’ll know the boy 
took it.” 

“ Miss Cressy, does yer s’pose yer boss’ll have der 
cops a’ ter bim, have him ’rested; run in, yer know?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder, Romeo. Monsieur Leonidas 
is a very just man, and if he knows he’s guilty he 
may have him punished. He deserves it. I never 
approved of such a boy being brought into the house. 


io6 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Them wharf gamin think no more of stealing than 
they do of eating.” 

I ’spect yer right, Miss Cressy. Yer such a 
fine smart lady no one can take lil’ things ’thout yer 
knowin’ it, now can dey ? ” 

Not much, Romeo ; I’m bound to look out for 
my master’s property, and I hate picking and 
stealing.” 

a Yer right. Miss Cressy ; shore yer right. Good 
night, I guess I’ll go an’ lay my ole bones down 
and res’ awhile. I’ mighty tired, I is. Lor’ bress 
yer, an’ good night.” 

When all was silent, Marc got up cautiously, and 
went out into the yard. The blind of the sitting- 
room was open, a reading-lamp burned on the table. 
Monsieur Nardi was there with a number of books 
before him; but he was not reading, he sat with 
his head on his hand looking very sad and thought- 
ful. The window, the same window where the 
table stood, was open, and Marc softly pushed Toto 
into the room. 

Monsieur Nardi looked up as the little animal 
sprang to his knee, and although he stroked andT 
petted it gently, one could see that he was preoccu- 
pied and worried. 


A DISAPPOINTMENT. 


107 


The boy stood without, looking for some time 
at the old gentleman. The tears were still in his 
eyes, but his face had a touch of anger in it, a sort 
of stubborn pride mingled with sorrow and surprise. 
After a few moments, wiping his eyes impatiently, 
he went out to the side gate. It was locked as 
usual, and Cressy had the key. He hesitated for a 
moment, then with the agility of a cat he scrambled 
up the high fence and dropped down into the street. 
For a short time he stood as if undecided where to 
go ; then he drew himself up and walked resolutely 
away. 


XIV. 


MADAME CROIZET’s GENEROSITY, 


■^/T ADAME BLUMENTHAL had been unusually 
feeble for several days, and her dainty 
labor had been performed under difficulties ; a 
bridal 'parure of orange blossoms and lilies of the 
valley, of exceptional delicacy and perfection, bad 
been ordered, and Madame Croizet had requested 
Louise to spare no pains in its manufacture. 

Poor little invalid, she bad failed perceptibly 
since she bad been deprived of the much-needed 
tonic. Seraph fretted about it to Romeo, and 
begged him to try to get the Ducro Elixir, by 
some means, for her pauvre petite maman^ who was 
suffering for it, and the faithful old servant’s 
heart was wrung with sorrow because be was un- 


able to comply with bis little mistress’ request. 

With all his deceptions and economies, assisted 
by the generosity of Monsieur Nardi and Cressy, 
he could scarcely provide necessary nourishment 
for a feeble invalid and a healthy child. At times 

loS 


MADAME CROIZET\S GENEROSITY. 


109 


he was reduced to the most pitiful straits; but 
he usually succeeded, with the aid of Cressy, in 
concealing the gravity of the situation from his 
mistress. 

The parure was finished after infinite weariness 
and pain, and it was so exquisitely natural, so 
pure, so delicate, that Louise hung over it, en- 
raptured with her own work. She had spread the 
garlands in a large fiat basket, among folds of 
soft paper, and was waiting for Romeo to carry 
them to their destination. While she waited and 
gazed on the beautiful flowers, emblematic of 
youth and happiness, she fell To thinking of her 
past, of her toil, her ambition, and her short-lived 
triumph, and of her present sad condition, her 
weakness, her poverty, and her inability to longer 
struggle with the cruel destiny that had over- 
taken her. Tears of despair filled her eyes and 
fell on the bridal wreath. She wiped them away 
hastily; a drop of sorrow might stain their purity. 
No, no, she must not weep, she must be strong 
for the sake of her child; she must conceal her 
anxiety, her suffering, from that bright young life; 
she must bear up, and toil and strive while life 
remained to. her. 


I lO 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


She heard Seraph, in the back room, as far 
away as she could get, practising her violin exer- 
cises, scraping, and running trills up and down 
the strings, from one chord to another, wildly 
mirthful or wailing sorrowfully. In her present 
nervous condition she could not endure the sound. 
It seemed as if the flexible bow was drawn over 
her tense nerves. It tortured her and almost 
maddened her, and for the time she felt that she 
would give anything to be rid of the instrument 
of her torment. 

Presently Romeo came to take the basket of 
flowers. He had been trying to make himself 
decent ; but his carefully preserved coat and best 
hat bore the unmistakable marks of age and pov- 
erty. Nevertheless he looked a respectable and 
reliable old servant who had seen better days. 
Looking at his mistress, "and seeing the traces of 
tears, his face worked pitifully, but he said 
cheerfully : 

You’s feelin’ a lil’ down dis mawnin’. Miss 
Louise. It’s no use, yer can’t git erlong widout 
dat Jew-crow. Yer mus’ have it, an’ I’s er gwine 
ter git it fer yer.” 

“ Oh, Romeo, you mustn’t. I can’t spare the 


MADAME CROIZET^S GENEROSITY. 


I I I 


money. If Madame Croizet would only pay me 
something more, I might be able to get a bottle. 
Romeo, ask her if she will please pay me a little 
more. Tell her that they have been very diffi- 
cult, and double the work of ordinary flowers. If 
you explain how ill I am, and ask her very po- 
litely, I think she will be generous and give me 
an extra price.” 

I’ll tell her, shore. Miss Louise. I’ll tell her. 
I knows how ter speak ter a lady. I’ll jes’ s’plain 
how yer done wore yer pore eyes out over dese 
triflin’ flowers, an’ she’ll gib me more ; doan’ fret. 
Miss Louise, she’ll gib me more, I’s shore she 
will.” And with this comforting assurance Romeo 
took the basket and went out. 

Scarcely had Romeo’s footsteps passed out of 
hearing, when there was a tap at the door and 
Cousin Franz entered. He scowled with displeasure 
as the strains of the violin sounded from the back 
room. Had Seraph known who was listening she 
would not have played such rollicking notes. As 
it was. Cousin Franz felt that there was a sort of 
defiance in the light bold strains, and he spoke very 
sharply as he drew a chair near Louise. 

There she is at it again. Really, it seems as 


I 12 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


if the child were possessed with an evil spirit 
when she gets that violin in her hands.” 

Just then a long-drawn-out, uncanny wail from 
the back room made Louise shiver and Cousin 
Franz almost spring from his seat. 

^^They are horrible, the exercises she selects ; they 
are fiendish, they are demoralizing,” said Cousin 
Franz, a hot flush passing over his face. 

Oh, Franz, don’t blame the poor child for the char- 
acter of the music she plays. She uses her father’s 
old books. I can’t afford to buy her new music.” 

And you allow her to go on scraping and 
screaming as though she were a little savage?” 

I can’t prevent her, really I can’t. Monsieur 
Nardi thinks very highly of her playing, and he 
encourages her to practise. Madame St. Maxent 
is a friend of our neighbor, and she has promised 
him to hear Seraph play some time, and the child 
is so ambitious, she is preparing for it; she is 
studying every spare moment.” 

You surely will not allow her to take up the 
violin. If she once plays to an audience, she will 
get a taste for it, and it wull be impossible to 
break her of it. Louise, you are making a serious » 
mistake ; you should refuse decidedly.” 


MADAME CROIZET^S GENEROSITY. I 13 

^^But think, Franz, of the advantage to her in 
interesting a woman as influential as Madame St. 
Maxent. She must depend, for future success, on 
the patronage and kindness of the rich.” 

That is true ; but let her secure that patronage 
in a dignified and proper way. Let her play the 
piano. She can display her musical talent as well 
on the piano as on the violin. You know there 
is a feeling against feminine violin-players — some 
consider it unwomanly, immodest. She never could 
secure pupils, and do you wish her to go about 
making a spectacle of herself as something outre 
and unconventional ? ” 

Oh, Cousin Franz, I think you are extreme in 
your views. I am told that in other places ladies 
play the violin. It is quite fashionable. And I am 
discouraged about the piano. Seraph does not like 
the piano, and she will never excel on it. I don’t 
know what to do. I feel as though I cannot 
struggle with her any longer. I am tired and 
worn out with trying to force her to practise. I 
feel that I must give up to her and let her take 
her own course. Oh ! I wish some one would 
decide the matter for me. I wish I could be 
relieved of all responsibility and uncertainty. I 


I 14 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

am not strong enough to cope with Seraph’s 
determination.” 

Do you really wish to be relieved ? ” asked 
Cousin Franz alertly. Now, Louise, you are begin- 
ning to be reasonable. Well, leave it to me, and I 
will think of some plan before long, and whatever 
I may do you will not reproach me afterward ? ” 

No ; not if it is for Seraph’s good, and I am sure 
you have her interest as much at heart as I have.” 

Yes, Louise, trust me ; I will act for her best 
interest.” 

For a moment neither spoke, but the violin went 
on wailing and sobbing like the cry of a broken 
heart. 

At length Cousin Franz arose to go, and as he 
took Louise’s stained fingers in his, he slipped an 
envelope in her hand. It may help you a little,” 
he said kindly. ^^You must let me do it for Carl’s 
sake.” 

Louise said nothing, but dropped her hot face 
in her hands. When she looked up. Cousin Franz 
was gone and she was alone. Just then the 
violin broke out into such a wildly triumphant 
and jubilant strain, that to the grateful invalid it 
seemed a song of thanksgiving. 


MADAME CROIZET'S GENEROSITY. 


II5 

“ I done tole yer dat Madame Croizet was a fine, 
gen’rous lady,” cried Romeo, entering at that mo- 
ment. Why, Miss Louise, when she foun’ out how 
porely you was, she jes’ said, ‘ Suttenly, Romeo, 
suttenly, yere’s two dollars extra fer yer mist’ ess.’ 
So I done bought yer bottle of Jew-crow, an’ I 
wish. Miss Louise, yer’d let me take dat oder dollar 
an’ buy dat pore chile a pair o’ shoes ; her lil’ 
footses is mos’ on der groun’.” 

Blessings never come singly,” thought Louise 
thankfully, as she removed the wrapper from the 
bottle and prepared to take a spoonful of the much- 
needed tonic. 

“ Really, I am surprised at Madame Croizet’ s gen- 
erosity,” she said. ‘^When I asked a little extra 
for the roses she refused, and now she sends me 
more than I expected. Yes, Romeo, you can buy 
the shoes ior Seraph.” 


XV. 


WITHOUT WINGS. 


HE next morning after the money was missing, 



Monsieur Nardi descended to his shop in a 
rather uncomfortable frame of mind, and was sur- 
prised to see Cressy dusting and putting things in 
order after her ancient custom. 

Why, Cressy, how is this ? Where is Marc ? ” 
he asked, with a puzzled look. 

I don’t know, monsieur ; he is not here ; I 
think he climbed the fence and went away last 
night.” 

Why, Cressy, you surprise me. Why should he 
go away without telling me?” 

I think he was afraid, monsieur ; I think he 
was guilty and he thought you might have him 
punished.” 

Oh, Cressy, ma honne, you don’t think him 
guilty, do you?” asked Monsieur Nardi, his voice 
faltering as he spoke. 

It looks very bad, monsieur, his running away.” 


WITHOUT WINGS. 


II7 

Yes, it looks badly, certainly ; but I can’t 
think the boy dishonest. I am never mistaken in 
my estimate of character, and Marc cannot be 
guilty.” 

I am sorry to undeceive you, monsieur, but 
the boy wasn’t honest in little things. For the 
first time since I’ve been in your service, I’ve 
missed food and groceries; not much at a time, 
it’s true, but just enough to convince me that 
some one about here was picking and stealing. I 
suppose he took them to some of his riff-raff on 
the levee.” 

Oh, poor child ! If I thought he took food 
to some one who was hungry, I could not blame 
him.” 

But he should have asked, monsieur ; he should 
have asked.” 

0u% oui, Cressy, ma homie, he should have 
asked, it is true ; but no doubt he was shy and a 
little afraid. And you must remember that he 
has never been taught the nice differences between 
right and wrong. Why, I daresay he thought 
it was right to take from one who has plenty 
to give to one who has nothing.” 

Poor Monsieur Nardi, in his desire to defend 


I 1 8 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

MarC; suddenly found himself floundering in the 
depths of a social problem, from which he has- 
tened to extricate himself with some confusion. 

You know, Cressy, I don’t mean to say that 1 
think it would be right, but the child in his igno- 
rance might look at it in that way. I am very 
much worried. I must try to find him, poor little 
lad ! and I must teach him to ask for what he 
wants.” 

If I might venture to advise you, monsieur, I 
should say that you had better not bring him 
back. If you do, he’ll make you more trouble.” 

Thank you, Cressy, but I shall judge of that 
myself,” returned Monsieur Nardi, a little stiffly, 
as he took his hat and went out. 

His destination was the levee, where he hoped 
to find Patsy, the watchman. After some search- 
ing he came across the old man sitting on a bale 
of cotton, watching with sorrowful, anxious eyes 
a huge steamer swiftly disappearing around a bend 
in the river. 

‘^Good morning, my friend,” said Monsieur Nardi 
kindly. 

Good morning, sir,” returned the old man, 
getting stiffly to his feet, his watchful eyes still 


WITHOUT WINGS. 


119 

fixed on the spot where only the smoke of the 
ship was visible. 

came down to ask you if you had seen Marc 
this morning,” began Monsieur Nardi cautiously. 

There was a little trouble yesterday, — a little 
misunderstanding, — and the boy might have thought 
I blamed him. Well, in short, he went away last 
night without my knowledge, and I want to find 
him to explain, to talk the matter over. I sup- 
pose he came to you.” 

Yes, sir, he come to me ; poor little shaver, 
he was all broke up. He told me about it, about 
the money bein’ took — ” 

^^But I didn’t accuse him,” interrupted Mon- 
sieur Nardi. Although circumstances are against 
him, I can’t think he took it.” 

He didn’t, sir, he didn’t. My old life ain’t 
worth much, but I’d stake it on the boy’s inno- 
cence. I never knowed an honester youngster. 
The fellers used to poke fun at him; when he 
come across a nickel he was al’ays so sot on 
findin’ an owner for it. Poor little chap! I was 
right sorry for him. We sot here nearly all night 
a talkin’ of it over. He was cut up to think 
you s’spected him.” 


120 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLLNISTE. 


Patsy? I was very careful that he should not 
think I suspected him. Why should he think so?” 

He overheard your colored woman say that you 
thought he’d took it, an’ he said he couldn’t sleep 
another night in your house, if you b’lieved he 
was a thief, so he jest took an’ lit out secret 
like.” 

‘‘1 didn’t, Patsy, I didn’t,” said Monsieur Nardi 
decidedly. “ I must see him and convince him. I 
must have a talk with him at once.” 

You can’t, sir ; he’s on that English steamer 
that’s just went around the bend. He’s on his way 
to Liverpool.” 

On his way to Liverpool ? ” and Monsieur Nardi 
sat down on the cotton bale, as suddenly and weakly 
as if he had received a blow. Really, this is a shock. 
Gone ! — gone away without my seeing him, without 
convincing him! and I had so much to say to him. 
I intended to take him home with me. I intended 
to show him that I had confidence in him. It’s a 
sad disappointment ; I liked the boy, Patsy, I liked 
him.” 

“An’ he was that fond of you, sir, an’ all them 
books, that it most broke the little feller’s heart to 
go off an’ leave it all.” 


WITHOUT WINGS. 


121 


But why did he go so soon ? Why didn’t he 
wait to see me?” 

‘^Well, you see, sir, if there’s one thing in crea- 
tion them little wharf rats is afraid of, it’s coppers. 
They’re brought up to be afraid of ’em ’cause they 
knows they’ll be run in for mos’ nothin’, an’ Marc 
he thought you might have him ’rested on s’spicion, 
so he lit out, an’ he had a first-rate chance. The 
cabin-boy on that ship didn’t turn up this mornin’. 
They didn’t want to put to sea without one, so I 
spoke a good word for Marc, an’ they took me 
right up. The little lad was down in the mouth 
to go off so sudden like, but he’s got plenty o’ 
sand, he has, an’ he’ll chirp up an’ be as chipper as 
a bird ’fore he gits to the Gulf.” 

When do you think he will be back?” asked 
Monsieur Nardi, in a tremulous voice. 

Oh, nobody can’t tell that. He might come 
back on the same ship, an’ he might conclude to 
stay over there.” 

^^Well, I must find some means of communicat- 
ing with the boy. I must try to induce him to 
come back. I can’t give him up. Thank you, 
Patsy, for your information,” and Monsieur Nardi 
walked away with bent head and uncertain steps. 


122 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


It seemed as if he were suddenly surrounded with 
the ruins of his shattered hopes. 

“ Oh, mamma, I’ve some good news for you,” 
cried Seraph, one morning, rushing joyously into 
her mother’s room. Madame St. Maxent and 
Monsieur Maurice are coming to-morrow to hear 
me play. Uncle ’Nidas has arranged it all. What 
shall I wear? I must look nice, and I must prac- 
tise all day to-day. Yes, mamma, you must let me 
have all day.” 

My dear child, you are making me suffer too 
much,” cried Louise piteously. Only last evening 
I promised Cousin Franz to insist on your resuming 
your practice on the piano. He was here after you 
went to bed, and lectured me severely because I 
allowed you to play for Monsieur Nardi. Now, 
listen a moment, darling, and be reasonable. Won’t 
you help your poor little mother to keep her promise 
to Cousin Franz ? You know how good he is. He 
is denying himself to help us, and it is for your 
own interest to give up the violin. Seraph, won’t 
you listen to me? Won’t you give it up?” 

I can’t, mamma, I can’t,” cried the child passion- 
ately. I couldn’t live without my violin. It is 


WITHOUT WINGS. 


123 


all I have to make me happy, to lift me up, up 
to the sky. I should be like a bird without wings, 
mamma. Think what a bird would be without wings. 
Suppose it could only crawl and creep in the 
shadows, and never fly in the sunlight. Don’t 
you /eeZ, mamma, that I can’t give up my violin ? ” 

Yes, my darling, I feel it, and that is why I 
suffer so ; but let me tell you something. Long 
ago I felt as you do. I felt that I could not give 
up my singing ; I struggled against my dear mother’s 
wishes, until at last she yielded to me. I was 
wrong. Seraph, look at me ; I am the poor maimed 
bird without wings.” 

The child’s face grew pale, and her eyes filled 
with tears. Yes, mamma, I know ; but your 
mother did not do it.” 

No, my mother did not do it, but I disobeyed 
her, and I was punished. I was deprived of my 
wings.” 

Poor mamma ! ” sobbed Seraph, clinging to her 
mother’s neck and kissing her. won’t disobey 

you again. I will study the piano every day. I 
can do both, I can play on both ; only allow me to 
practise my violin to-day, because Uncle ’Nidas has 
promised for me. Say yes, petite maman^ and you 


124 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLTNISTE. 


will see how good I can be.” And Seraph wiped 
away her tears and went hurriedly to get her violin, 
while her mother was in a relenting mood. 

With eager, trembling hands she raised the cover 
of the case. It was empty, the violin was gone! 


XVI. 


THE WOUNDED BIRD, 



HEN Seraph opened the violin case and saw 


* ~ that it was empty, she flew to her mother, 
and clutching her flercely by the shoulder, cried in 
a voice of passionate resentment, Mamma, where 
is my violin ? Tell me where it is ! 

For the first time poor Louise cowered under the 
searching look of her child, and her face crimsoned 
with a feeling akin to guilt, but with a desperate 
effort to be calm and decided she said firmly : 

Seraph, you are forgetting yourself. You are 
not respectful. Control your temper, and I will 
answer you. Cousin Franz must have taken the 
violin with him last evening. I did not know 
it was gone, but I knew that he intended to 
sell it.” 

Oh, mamma, how could you ? ” exclaimed Seraph, 
her wide eyes full of dismay. How could you sell 
papa’s violin ? How could you ? ” 

I did not wish to, my child. It hurts me 
as deeply as it hurts you,” faltered Louise ; but 


126 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Cousin Franz insisted. He made me feel that it 
was my duty ; but I did not think he intended to 
do it just yet. I did not know he intended to take 
it last night.” 

It was gone last night ! He took it last night, 
and I thought it was there in its little bed ! Oh, 
mamma! what can I do?” And she wrung her 
hands and looked at her mother appealingly. 

My darling, don’t look that way ; don’t take 
on so ; be calm, be reasonable,” pleaded Louise. 

It is not so serious. It is not a living thing.” 

It is a living thing to me, mamma. It is more 
than a living thing. I can’t tell you, I can’t ex- 
plain how I feel about it. Oh, mamma 1 he took 
it only last night. Perhaps he has not sold it yet ; 
perhaps he still has it. I must go to him and beg 
him to give it back to me.” 

My dear child, it will be useless. Your Cousin 
Franz has decided to sell it, and he is not one to 
change easily. I know it is useless to go to him.” 

It is not ; I will go,” she cried, angrily stamp- 
ing her little foot. It is mine ; he has no right 
to take my violin and sell it. I will go to him 
and tell him so.” 

Seraph, you forget that Cousin Franz has a 


THE WOUNDED BIRD. 


127 


right ; he is your guardian. It was your father s 
wish that he should take care of us. We have no 
one else to depend upon. I implore you not to 
rebel against Cousin Franz’s authority.” 

Mamma, I am going to him, and if he has the 
violin, I shall make him give it to me,” repeated 
Seraph firmly. I shall not come away without it.” 

Oh, my child, I beg of you, do nothing rash,” 
pleaded Louise weakly, while Seraph, her face white 
and resolute and her eyes aflame with a sense of 
wrong and injustice, prepared to face her stern 
Cousin Franz. 

Mamma, I shall tell Cousin Franz the truth. 
You know it is not right to rob me that way, and he 
knows it. He should have told me that he intended 
to sell it. Now, mamma dear, don’t fret; I must go. 
I will walk as quickly as I can, and if I get the 
violin, I shall fly back. If it is not gone, he must 
let me have it, at least until I have played for 
Madame St. Maxent.” 

It was quite a long walk from St. Louis Street 
to Grande Route St. John, where Cousin Franz 
lived, but Seraph did not feel the distance. So fear- 
ful was she of being too late, that she ran breath- 
lessly the greater part of the way, and when she 


128 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


reached the gate and rang, she could hardly wait 
for the servant to open it. 

Madame Arnet was sitting on the gallery busy 
with her needlework, when Seraph, her face flushed 
and her eyes eager and anxious, rushed hurriedly 
up the steps, saying as she came, Bon jour, Cou- 
sin Rachel ; please can I see Cousin Franz, now, 
directly ? ” 

Why, Seraph, what is the matter ? What has 
happened ? ” asked Madame Arnet, with as much 
animation as she was capable of showing. Dear 
child, you are so excited. Is it bad news?” 

I want to see Cousin Franz at once,” insisted 
Seraph curtly and decidedly. Can I go to his 
study ? ” 

He is not in his study ; he has gone out,” replied 
Madame Arnet, with irritating calmness. Perhaps 
you can sit down, my dear, and tell me what has 
happened.” 

No, no. Cousin Rachel, I can’t sit down ; only 
tell me, did he take my violin with him ; has he — 
has he sold it?” 

Oh, the violin. Mr. Arnet has been for some 
time bargaining with the purchaser; he thought it 
important to get the most possible. I think he 


THE WOUNDED BIRD. 


129 


took it to the man last night. He didn’t bring it 
home with him.. He has gone now to take your 
mamma the money — a nice sum, which I hope she 
will use prudently. Mr. Arnet is denying himself 
a great many necessary books in order to help your 
mother. I trust that you appreciate his kindness 
as you should.” 

Seraph did not hear the last part of Madame 
Arnet’s friendly remarks. With a heartbroken 
cry, she threw herself down on the step, and buried 
her face in her hands, while her little shoulders 
shook with sobs. 

Why, child, what are you crying about ? I 
thought you would be thankful for the money.” 
iVnd Madame Arnet rose calmly, and laying down 
her work, went slowly toward the little weeper, with 
a puzzled look on her stolid face. ^^Dear me, I 
wish Mr. Arnet was here. I don’t know what to 
do with such an excitable child.” 

Happily for her, at that moment Cousin Franz 
arrived. With a gentleness and tenderness quite 
unexpected in one so apparently severe and cold, 
he lifted Seraph’s tearful face, and said kindly. 
Come, my child, come with me into my study. I 
want to talk with you calmly and reasonably, and 

K 


130 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


I think I can convince you that I have done what 
was best. I have just left your mother ; she is 
very unhappy. We must try to make her feel 
better.” 

Oh, Cousin Franz, is it too — too late ? Is it 
really sold?” cried Seraph, grasping his hand des- 
perately. 

Yes, it is sold, and we cannot get it back. 
Now, Seraph, sit down and let me reason with 
you.” 

But, dear Cousin Franz, if you should go to 
the man who bought it, and tell him that it was 
all a little girl had, that — that it was her dead 
papa’s. Oh, if you will tell him how unhappy I 
am, I think — I am sure — he will give it back.” 

Impossible, my dear ; it is a business transaction 
of importance. It is a very old and very rare 
violin. A dealer has been for some time trying to 
buy it for a customer, and I have spent much time 
and made great efforts to get the price I asked. 
At last I have closed the bargain, delivered the 
violin, and received the money. It is too late now.” 

But why did you take it without my knowing 
it ? Why didn’t you let me say good by to it ? ” 

Seraph, I thought it best. I wished to spare 


THE WOUNDED BIRD. I3I 

you sorrow, or, to be exact, I wished to spare my- 
self sorrow. I am not hard-hearted, my de'ar child ; 
I am not making you suffer willingly. I know you 
loved your father’s violin ; I, too, love everything 
that belonged to him; for that reason I am trying 
to help you to make your life happy and useful. 
There are times in our lives when we must suffer, 
and not always for ourselves alone, but for the 
welfare of others. You are so young that perhaps 
you cannot understand how sweet and holy it may 
be to suffer for others. You love your poor afflicted 
mother, do you not. Seraph?” 

Oh, Cousin Franz, you know how I love mamma. 
You knoio^' she replied reproachfully, as if a doubt 
were a wrong to her. 

Then, my dear, are you not willing to suffer a 
little, in order to give her some comfort, to ease her 
poor anxious mind, to save her a few hours’ toil ? 
to provide those little necessities which give her 
strength and life? By depriving yourself of a 
pleasure, and one which is a doubtful good, you 
are adding years, perhaps, to your mother’s life. 
Think it over, my child; look at it calmly and 
dispassionately from my point of view, and then 
tell me if you regret the sacrifice.” 


132 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Poor little Seraph ! She was very young to have 
the burden of such a decision laid upon her, but 
she grappled with it heroically. She grasped the 
beautiful truth, dimly and incompletely, perhaps, 
but it comforted her. It was cruel, — it was heart- 
breaking to give up so much of her life, but for her 
mother she felt able to do it. And Cousin Franz 
comforted himself with the thought that he had 
acted wisely, and that in the end his little protege 
would recognize the fact. 

'Stifling her sobs, and wiping away the rebellious 
tears which she could not repress. Seraph prepared 
herself to take up her new role of submission and 
self-sacrifice. In the first flush of her resolve it 
was not so difficult, and as Cousin Franz bade her 
good by at the gate she looked up and smiled 
hopefully. Thank you. Cousin Franz. I think I 
understand, and I’ll try to bear it for mamma’s 
sake.” 

But the poor little feet were not swift as she re- 
turned home. She did not fly. She began to be 
dimly conscious that she had lost her wings; that 
she was a wounded bird. 


XYII. 


PEACH BLOSSOMS, 


HEN Seraph returned home, she went directly 



* * to her mother, and putting her arms around 
the poor little invalid, said sweetly, and with no 
trace of her former passionate emotion, Mamma, 
forgive me for being so angry. Cousin Franz has 
made me feel how wrong I was. He has made 
me understand why I cannot have my violin. I 
will give it up and try to forget it, and I will do 
everything I can to help you, and make you happy. 
I will practise the piano, and try to make it take 
the place of my violin.” 

Oh, my darling, my darling ! ” was all Louise 
could say, as she kissed the pale little face, grown 
so suddenly mature and thoughtful. 

Now, chere petite maman, you feel better, don’t 
you ? You will see what a good child I can be 
when I try. I must go to Uncle ’Nidas and tell 
him that I can’t play for Madame St. Maxent to- 
morrow.” 


133 


134 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


The effort of self-control in the soft little voice 
made Louise’s heart ache, and had she been able, 
she would have gladly wiped out the preceding 
twenty-four hours, and made her child happy again. 
But it was too late ; she had been taught her first 
bitter lesson of submission and renunciation, and 
nothing could obliterate the impression it had made 
on her plastic mind. 

Neither was Uncle ’Nidas very happy these days. 
He missed Marc sorely. The boy had really grown 
into his heart, even in so short a time ; but it was 
not only in his affections that he was wounded : his 
amour propre had suffered a severe shock, he was 
disappointed in himself. He felt, for some reason, 
that he had not managed well, and there was some 
remorse mingled with his regret. He had not had 
the courage of his convictions, he had taken the 
boy on his own responsibility, on his own estimate, 
and at the first little circumstance he had doubted 
his own ability to judge the boy’s character. For 
in his heart he was uncertain and fluctuating. At 
times he thought him innocent, at times guilty. 
Marc had felt it, and with the just pride of inno- 
cence, as well as the fear of being wrongfully pun- 
ished, had taken himself away beyond the reach 


PEACH BLOSSOMS. 


135 


of reparation, and he, his would-be benefactor, had 
lost all chance of doing the child justice. 

This worried the kind-hearted, sensitive old gen- 
tleman not a little, and caused him to be very ten- 
der and sympathetic to Seraph in her new sorrow. 
After he had listened to the child’s pathetic story, 
told with great self-restraint and calmness, he re- 
mained in deep thought for a while, as he did not 
wish to make a mistake by blaming Madame Blu- 
menthal or Cousin Franz. Neither did he wish to 
undervalue the child’s loss. At length he said, with 
an effort to be cheery : 

hien^ cliere petite, we must admit that your 
mamma and your cousin are the best judges. They 
love you, and they can only be right. It’s hard for 
you to give up the violin, and I’m sorry Madame St. 
Maxent can’t hear you play. I’ll let her know that 
you can’t play for her to-morrow. It’s only put- 
ting it off; for if you set your mind at it, you’ll 
make a great artiste on the piano. As a professor 
of the piano, perhaps you can become more famous 
than you could as a virtuoso on the violin. Now, 
cherie, set to work with a good heart, and you’ll 
see, you’ll see.” 

“ I’ll try^ Uncle ’Nidas,” returned Seraph re- 


136 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

signedly ; but my fingers feel heavy, and I am 
lonesome without my violin. And I’m sorry Marc 
has gone; I miss him. I’ve nothing — no one to 
amuse me. Couldn’t you lend me Toto? I must 
have something to pet, and Toto is such a 
dear.” 

^AVhy, certainly, ma petite, take Toto; and don’t 
you want some interesting books? I haVe some 
just suitable for a little girl, — nice, pleasant stories. 
And this evening — let me see, we can’t have our 
concert because I haven’t a piano, but we’ll have 
a fete ehampetre. The garden is very pretty now. 
We’ll have some ices and cakes under the multiflora, 
and you can entertain our little neighbors. I’m 
sure they know some pretty games, so you won’t 
be dull.” 

Thank you. Uncle ’Nidas,” Seraph replied, but 
there was no heartiness in her voice. She held 
Toto hugged up to her cheek, and Monsieur Nardi 
thought he saw tears glistening on the little animal’s 
soft fur. 

From that day Seraph set about obeying her 
mother in everything. She practised the piano even 
more hours than were required of her, and when 
she was not studying, she tried to teach her little 


PEACH BLOSSOMS. 


137 


fingers to cut and twist the petals of flowers, to 
wind the stems, and arrange the bunches artisti- 
cally. I will learn to make flowers, mamma, and 
then I can help you earn money,” she said, with 
womanly gravity. I have plenty of time when I 
am not practising.” 

My darling, I would rather have you play 
with Toto, and amuse yourself,” and Louise looked 
anxiously at the child. ^^You must go in the gar- 
den and help Romeo with the flowers. They need 
care, and that peach tree at the end of the gallery 
has not blossomed yet. I wonder why it is so late. 
I’ve been watching for blossoms on it. When the 
peach trees bloom, I know spring has come, and I 
feel more cheerful ; but this year everything seems 
late, — even the birds don’t sing as they used to, 
and you. Seraph dear, you are losing your spirits. 
That won’t do ; you must cheer up and be my sun- 
shine again.” 

Oh, mamma, please don’t complain of me. I’m 
trying so hard to be good, to please you and Cousin 
Franz. Why, mamma. Cousin Rachel told you 
yesterday, when she was here, that I had improved 
so much that I was almost as sedate and thought- 
ful as Madge, and she promised me a new frock 


138 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

as a reward. So, petite maman^ you must not 
blame me if I don’t sing and laugh as much as I 
used to do.” 

After that, for several days. Seraph spent all of her 
spare time in the little garden. She seemed to be 
very busy over some new project, and there was a 
great deal of mysterious whispering with Romeo 
when he came in to sweep and dust. 

One morning, just as the dawn flushed pink in 
the east, and the objects in the little garden came 
out clearly one by one. Seraph stole out of her 
room on to the gallery, holding a small basket 
full of peach blossoms. Slipping softly down the 
steps, she tapped at Romeo’s door. A low implor- 
ing muttering within told that the old man was 
at his morning’s devotions. He was ’ras’lin’ with 
the sperit,” as he termed it. The child listened a 
moment to his gloomy, self-accusing words ; he was 
evidently in the throes of penitence, and his highly 
colore'^d expressions made her tremble and shrink 
away : Romeo’s religion was not a cheerful emotion. 
With a saddened heart she turned from the door 
and sat down on the steps, holding her blossoms, 
but not looking at them. She seemed to be think- 
ing of something else. 


PEACH BLOSSOMS. 


139 


Presently Romeo hobbled out, his woe-begone 
old face drawn and haggard in the morning 
light. 

Bress yer heart, honey, is yer up a’ ready an’ 
waitin’ fer dat ole step-ladder ? ” 

Yes, Romeo ; I’m waiting, and hurry, please’. I 
want the tree to be in bloom when mamma gets 
up ; then she will be happy all day.” 

Romeo hobbled away, and bringing the step-ladder, 
placed it beside the tree. Then Seraph climbed to 
the very top of it, and, with dextrous, nimble 
fingers, began tying to the brown branches the 
pretty pale blossoms, which she had made very 
naturally from scraps of muslin left from her 
mother’s work. 

When the sun peeped into the garden, the little 
peach tree seemed to blush under its affluence of 
bloom. And Monsieur Nardi, looking out of his 
window, thought to himself how suddenly and 
beautifully the tree had put forth. 

An hour later when Madame Blumenthal lifted 
her tired, dull eyes to the window, she exclaimed 
joyously, Look, Seraph, the peach tree is in bloom. 
How suddenly spring has come ! ” And a mocking- 
bird, no wiser than the invalid, dropped down on 


140 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


a flowering branch and poured out a thrilling song, 
a song of life and joy, and poor little Louise felt a 
sudden upspringing of hope and happiness. 

But Seraph slipped away to her own little room, 
and sat there, thinking deeply, with the marmoset 
hugged to her heart. 


XVIII. 


seraph’s secret. 

S ERAPH and Madge had seen so little of each 
other that they were scarcely acquainted, for 
Madame Arnet had not encouraged any intimacy 
between the frivolous little violin player and her 
sedate and obedient daughter. 

But now that Seraph had reformed, as it were, 
under Cousin Franz’s excellent advice, and had 
become studious and submissive, the minister’s wife 
no longer objected to their meeting each other at 
proper intervals. Occasionally Seraph was invited 
to tea, or Madge was allowed to spend a few hours 
in the little cottage on St. Louis Street. 

During these short and infrequent meetings the 
children had, like the busy bee, improved each 
shining hour,” and made rapid strides toward a 
close friendship. Seraph had no intimates of her 
own age, and it was delightful to find in the quiet, 
gentle little Madge so sympathetic a recipient of 
her small confidences. 


142 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


One day they were nestled together in an arbor, 
in the garden on the Grande Route St. John, chat- 
tering as fast as their active little tongues could fly. 
Madge was unusually animated, and Seraph extremely 
emphatic. 

If you’re sure, Madge,” Seraph was saying, ^Ghat 
you can keep a secret, I will tell you ; for I must 
tell some one, and I don’t dare tell mamma or Uncle 
’Nidas, and sometimes I feel so guilty, so wicked, 
keeping this to myself, and letting another be 
blamed. I’d like to tell you, Madge. I’d like to 
ask you what I ought to do, if you’re sure you’ll 
never tell.” 

I’m not a tell-tale, Seraph. You can trust me,” 
returned Madge firmly. 

On your honor ? ” 

Yes, on my honor,” and she crossed her plump 
little fingers, binding herself solemnly by that 
mystic sign. 

Then Seraph pressed her soft cheek so close to 
Madge’s fawn-colored head, and whispered so low, 
that a saucy blue-jay hidden among the vines could 
not distinguish a word of Seraph’s confession ; 
neither a word of Madge’s comments. 

There were only little half-audible exclamations 


SERAPH'S SECRET. 


143 


from Seraph of Oh, do you think so ? How can 
I ? Oh, Madge, I can’t ; I must wait ; I can’t, I 
can’t,” and then some imperative, urgent sentences 
from Madge. ^^You must. Seraph, it’s right; you 
must do it. I couldn’t rest if I were you. I couldn’t 
sleep at night with that on my conscience. You 
must. Seraph; you must.” 

^^If you think I ought. I’ll try,” said Seraph, in 
a faltering, irresolute voice. 

Yes, try. It won’t be so hard when you make 
up your mind. Oh dear ! I wonder why it is so 
easy to do wrong, and so hard to do right,” said 
Madge reflectively. Seraph, you wouldn’t tjiink 
that . I had a secret, would you?” - 

^^No, I wouldn’t; have you?” asked Seraph 
alertly, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest. 

Oh, Madge ! do tell me ! I hope it’s not such a 
dreadful one as mine.” 

^^Well, I don’t think I’m doing right,” returned 
Madge honestly. I am afraid I am deceiving papa 
and mamma, although they never exactly told me 
that I shouldn’t do it.” 

Oh, Madge ! do tell me what it is ! ” cried 
Seraph anxiously. I’ll cross my fingers if you want 
me to.” 


144 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE, 


I think you may as well/’ said Madge cautiously, 
then I’ll know I’m safe. You see papa intends 
me to be a professor of German when I grow up. 
He thinks I like German, but I don’t ; I hate it.” 
And Madge let her voice fail and looked around 
nervously at a slight noise. 

It was only the curious blue-jay trying to hear 
what she was saying. And I don’t mean to teach 
it,” she added with calm deliberation. “ I have 
decided to be a milliner. The only thing I lom to 
do is to make dolls’ hats. I make them for all the 
girls in school, and mamma doesn’t know it. I have 
no dolls, because papa and mamma think it a foolish 
waste of time, but I’ll tell you how I manage to 
make the hats. I ask to come out here to study 
my German. I study awhile, else, you see, I should 
be telling a falsehood,” exclaimed Madge, with care- 
ful diplomacy, and after I have finished my lessons 
I make my dolls’ hats. I will show you,” and ris- 
ing from her seat, she parted the shrubbery and 
drew forth a small covered basket. All my things 
are in this. I hide it here so that no one can 
find it.” 

Then she laid out before Seraph’s admiring eyes 
a number of tiny hats made with considerable skill, 


SERAPH'S SECRET. 


145 

and as modish as though they had come from a 
milliner’s show window. 

They’re lovely ! ” said Seraph, ’looking at each 
one approvingly. Where do you get the ribbon 
and flowers ? ” 

The girls give them to me to pay for the hats 
I make for them, and sometimes I sell one, and, on 
my way to school, I buy things myself. Now you 
know my secret. I intend to keep on making dolls’ 
hats until I am out of school and am old enough to 
make big ones. By and by I mean to have a shop 
on Royal Street, with a large window full of hats, 
feathers, and flowers,” and Madge’s light eyes 
sparkled mildly at its imagined beauty. 

Oh, Madge, I am so glad that you intend to 
do that,” cried Seraph joyfully. ^^We can have a 
shop together, and I can make the flowers. I’m 
learning now from mamma. If I can’t play the 
violin, I mean to make flowers ; for I know I shall 
never love the piano, and you must love your instru- 
ment to learn to play it well. I mean to try it with 
all my heart. I promised maman that I would 
try ; but, Madge, by and by they will see that I can’t 
and then they will leave off making me practice. 
I’m wearing my finger tips ofl and straining my 


146 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

hands for nothing, and Cousin Franz and all of 
them will find it out by and by.” 

^‘Poor Seraph!” said Madge pityingly; know 
how you feel. I feel just the same about German, 
only I don’t show it. I’ve made up my mind to 
be a milliner, but until the time comes no one but 
you will know it.” 

Yes, we’ll keep it a secret,” agreed Seraph, and 
I’ll learn all I can from mamma, and sometime we’ll 
have a big shop like Madame Croizet’s, and you and 
I will sit behind the glass partition, — you making 
hats, and I making fiowers, and chere petite maman 
just looking on and doing nothing ; and, Madge, I 
will buy another violin, and in the evening I will 
play for you and mamma.” 

At that moment approaching steps warned the 
little conspirators. Madge hastened to conceal her 
basket, and Seraph’s small face put on an expres- 
sion of patient submission which seemed to say. 
We bide our time. We are two little clipped, 
caged birds; we mean to be good and docile now, 
but our plans for the future are secretly made, and 
we bide our time to break loose from our prisons 
and spread our wings in freedom.” 

That same evening Monsieur Nardi sat alone in 


SERAPH'S SECRET. 


147 


his room behind the shop, absorbed in reading a let- 
ter. It was from the steward of the ship with 
whom Marc had sailed as cabin boy, and was in 
answer to one the old bookseller had despatched to 
meet the steamer on her arrival m Liverpool. 

The steward’s letter was another disapj)ointment 
to Monsieur Nardi. He had asked the kind-hearted 
sailor to bring the boy back on the return voyage, 
and to treat him with as much consideration as he 
possibly could. But to his sorrow, he learned from 
the letter before him that the steamer was ordered 
to some other destination, and might not return to 
New Orleans for years. Besides, Marc, who had 
made a very satisfactory cabin boy, had left the 
ship immediately on her arrival, and they had lost 
all trace of him. But the steward assured Monsieur 
Nardi that they would do what they could to find 
the boy, and to induce him to return on the first 
steamer that sailed for his port. 

There the matter ended, and Monsieur Nardi was 
feeling anything but satisfied with the termination 
of the affair, when Seraph entered hurriedly and 
excitedly. 

Oh, Uncle ’Nidas, I’ve something to tell you,” 
she began breathlessly, as if she had rehearsed a 


148 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

story and did not wish to be interrupted until she 
finished it. ‘^I’ve wanted to tell you for a long 
time; but I couldn’t — I didn’t have the courage. 
To-day Madge made me feel that I ought to tell 
you, and I must now, while I can. I know why 
Marc went away. He went because you thought 
that he had taken some money; but. Uncle ’Nidas, 
he did not take it. He did not touch it.” 

Mais^ comment, ma petite ? How do you know 
that Marc did not take it ? ” asked Monsieur Nardi, 
puzzled, but deeply interested. 

Oh, I can’t tell you how I know. Oh, please, 
don’t ask me ! ” she cried, suddenly bursting into 
tears, and slipping to her knees, she covered her 
flushed face with her hands, and sobbed. I am 
so sorry, so unhappy, but I can’t tell you any 
more ! ” 

For a moment Monsieur Nardi looked at the 
little flgure, kneeling as though in self-abasement, 
and his eyes were full of bewildered surprise and 
dismay. Like a flash he remembered that Seraph 
had entered the room that morning and taken a 
piece of music she had left the evening before, from 
that very table. How horrible! What had taken 
possession of him? Was he losing his mind? Was 


SERAPH'S SECRET. 


149 


he becoming suspicious of every one ? It was odious. 
For a moment he hated himself. Then the tender est 
compassion for the cowering, weeping child filled his 
troubled old heart. What did it matter? Let her 
be ever so guilty, he loved her the same. Stooping 
over her he lifted her, and drew her hot, tear-stained 
cheek close to his heart. 

There, there, ma chere,'' he said soothingly, 
while his own eyes filled. Not another word; 
not another tear. I decided long ago that Marc 
was innocent. I know all about it ; never speak 
of it again ; never think of it. It’s all over, and 
we’ll forget it ever happened.” 

Seraph looked at him searchingly as she wiped 
away her tears and swallowed her sobs. Then she 
said, in a tone of great relief, I’m so glad you 
know. I didn’t think you knew; and you’ll for- 
give, — I mean you won’t punish any one ? Oh, 
dear Uncle ’Nidas, can’t you find Marc to tell him 
that you hioiv he is innocent?” 

I’m trying to find him, clierie ; I’m trying, petite. 
I have thought of a plan, and if that don’t succeed, 
I shall be obliged to go after him myself.” 


XIX. 


SERAPH S PROFESSOR. 


NE morning Cousin Franz came to tell Madame 



Blumentlial that he had engaged for Seraph 
a professor who had just arrived from Berlin. His 
name was Vortman, and he was an old friend of 
Cousin Franz ; he had also known Carl Blumen- 
thal when they were boys together in the conser- 
vatoire. It was a rare chance to find so capable 
an instructor for such a modest price. As he was 
a stranger and wished to be introduced, he had 
made special terms to teach both Madge and Seraph, 
in the hope of obtaining other pupils through the 
influence of his former friend. 

Now Seraph has no excuse for not progressing 
rapidly,” said Cousin Franz, when the little prelim- 
inaries were arranged ; a professor of such ability 
will give a new impetus to her efforts and en- 
courage her to strive after real excellence. I have 
great hopes of her now, since she takes so much 
interest in her music.” 


SERAPH^ S PROFESSOR. 


15I 

But does she take interest ? ” asked Louise doubt- 
fully, or is she merely trying to be obedient ? At 
times she seems singularly apathetic and indifferent ; 
she is never demonstrative and light-hearted, as she 
used to be. I sometimes fear that we are training 
and pruning the slender sapling too severely.” 

.“Not at all, Louise ; a little discipline has improved 
her wonderfully. By and by she will strike out 
new shoots, and you will be surprised at her vigor- 
ous moral .and mental growth. Look at Madge; 
see how carefully I am training her; she has no 
desires, no will but mine, and she has a fine, healthy 
mind — no sickly fancies, no whims. She is contented 
to walk in the path I have marked out for her. 
I mean to make her a distinguished German scholar ; 
she has the faculty for mastering difficulties, and the 
patience and perseverance necessary for success. If 
you will leave Seraph to me, now that I have 
gained an influence over* her, I will make her as 
reasonable and industrious as Madge is.” 

“ Ah, Cousin Franz, you know so much more 
than I do ! You are full of strength and courage, 
you have energy and ambition, and I am glad that 
my child has such a friend and guardian. But let 
me beg of you not to be too severe, not to expect 


152 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

too much of Seraph. She is delicate and sensitive, 
and lately she has not seemed strong. Her little 
pale face and sad resigned eyes torture me, and 
sometimes I long to have her her old, restless, noisy, 
impulsive self again. If we should ruin her health, 
and make her miserable — ah, I shudder to think 
of it.” 

‘^Then don’t think of it. Those are nervous 
fancies. She will develop into a fine, strong woman, 
and under Vortman’s instruction will make a 
pianiste to be proud of.” 

Any change in the dull, gray level of Seraph’s daily 
life was most welcome. Gradually, in her strained, 
overwrought condition, everything was becoming 
colorless, cold, and uninteresting to her. She strug- 
gled through her allotted tasks in a dull, lifeless 
way. She mastered the technicalities of her les- 
sons, she practised carefully and correctly, she went 
through her exercises like a clever little machine, 
with no more human feeling in her touch than one 
could detect in a music-box. 

Before Professor Vortman had given her a half- 
dozen lessons, he was impressed with the child’s 
technical skill. Her time, her fingering, her phras- 
ing, were remarkably correct, but the lack of expres- 


SERAPH'S PROFESSOR. 


153 


sion and warmth exasperated him. He was a clever, 
kind-hearted man, as well as an artist, and he began 
to study his little pupil closely, until it grew upon 
him that she was like some small creature out of 
its element struggling to adapt itself to new con- 
ditions. It was like trying to teach a fish to fly, 
or a bird to swim. Nature was against him, and 
he could not conquer its immutable laws. The 
child’s soul was not in her work, she was not an 
intelligence ; she was a mere machine grinding out 
her pitiful pathetic task. 

‘•Is it possible,” thought Professor Vortman to 
himself, “ that honest, intelligent human beings such 
as Franz Arnet and that gentle little invalid can 
have no more perception, or have they wooden 
hearts, not to be able to feel that they are inflicting 
torture on that poor, impressionable child? Well, 
I will tell them the truth. I will not be an 
accomplice.” 

During a lesson, preparatory to an interview with 
Cousin Franz, Professor Vortman asked Seraph some 
simple, practical questions. 

“ Do you love music, mademoiselle ? ” 

“Yes, monsieur, I love music; but I dislike the 


154 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Why, then, if you dislike the piano, do you 
study it ? ” 

Because Cousin Franz and mamma wish me 

to.” 

«^Why do you dislike the piano, my child?” 
don’t know, monsieur; I can’t explain.” 

Ah, mademoiselle, that is not reasonable. Give 
me a reason, please.” 

‘^Well, monsieur, I love the violin; perhaps that 
is why I dislike 'the piano.” 

understand. The violin is your instrument. 
Do you not know that it is wasting time to study an 
instrument you dislike ? ” 

Yes, monsieur, I know it, but Cousin Franz and 
mamma do not.” 

Have you a violin ? ” 

No, monsieur, I have none ; I had papa’s, but 
Cousin Franz thought best to sell it.” 

And you practised a great deal on it ? ” 

Oh, yes ; every day ; and I was always happy 
when I had my violin.” 

Yes, yes ; I understand,” and the professor went 
away, thinking deeply. 

The next day Professor Yortman brought his 
violin. The violin was his favorite instrument also, 


SERAPH'S PROFESSOR. 


155 


and handing Seraph a roll of music, he said, See 
if here is something you can play.” 

She selected a sonata, and went through it in a 
manner that astonished the professor. 

“Very good! excellent! My little friend, let me 
congratulate you. I have found your soul — it is 
in the violin.” 

“ Thank you, monsieur,” said Seraph, tears start- 
ing to her eyes, and her face warm and tremulous 
with emotion. “ I know it ; but I can’t convince 
Cousin Franz and mamma.” 

“ See here, my good friend,” cried Professor 
Vortman, entering Cousin Franz’s study rather ab- 
ruptly, “ I thought you had some sensibility, some 
conscience. See what a task you have set me to 
do. You expect me to teach a bird to burrow 
like a mole, a butterfly to creep like a snail. You 
expect me to change nature itself, and I de- 
cline to try it; I’ll have nothing to do with such 
cruelty.” 

“Why, Vortman, what do you mean?” asked 
Cousin Franz, turning quickly in his chair, and 
looking at the professor, surprised and alarmed. 

“ Oh, yes, my learned doctor, my good honest 
friend. You are wise in your own conceit, but in 


156 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

reality you are as ignorant and blind as an earth- 
worm.” 

^‘What have I done? Prove what you assert,” 
exclaimed Cousin Franz, with a troubled expression. 

Ah, you may as well plead guilty,” and Professor 
Vortman’s sarcastic face relaxed in a grim smile. 

You have tried to fetter a little soul ; you have 
tried to force genius to express itself by your 
methods, in your way. You have tried to do what 
the Creator alone can do. The wind bloweth where 
it listeth, and the Supreme cannot be bound by any 
laws or devices of man. Stop persecuting that 
adorable little protege of yours. Take her away 
from the piano. She will never bring out one 
chord of true music from that instrument. Allow 
her to express herself in her own way, and you, 
and perhaps the world, will be astonished at her 
power, her passion, her genius.” 


XX. 


A DILEMMA. 

ny /TOST unexpectedly Cousin Franz was faced by 
a very trying dilemma. He hated extremely 
to acknowledge himself in the wrong ; to admit 
that he had been mistaken in his pet theories of 
rearing and training the young, that after all 
his secret self-laudation he lacked discernment and 
intelligence ; and, on the other hand, he had too 
much respect for Professor Vortman’s honesty and 
ability to discredit his decision ; besides, he did not 
wish to bestow a charity that was of no benefit 
to the recipient. In short, he did not wish to 
pay for lessons that would be of no future good 
to Seraph. 

After thinking the matter over seriously, and 
looking at it from every point of view, he had a 
long interview with Louise and the professor, dur- 
ing which he tried to fortify his position by former 
arguments ; but at length, fearing that Professor 
Vortman would resign his position as instructor, 
157 


158 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

he yielded with as good a grace as possible, and 
decided, with the consent of her mother, to leave 
Seraph’s musical education entirely to the discretion 
of the professor, to he conducted by him exactly as 
it suited his intelligence and his pupil’s ability. 

But she has no violin,” said Louise regretfully. 

I am so sorry it was necessary to sell Carl’s.” 

It was necessary,” returned Cousin Franz decid- 
edly, and a very wise and reasonable proceeding. 

It was altogether too valuable an instrument for 
a child to practise on. A cheaper one will do as 
well.” 

‘^Ah, but I have not the means to get her a 
cheaper one.” 

Professor Yortman’s interest in his pupil smoothed 
away even that obstacle. ^^Mademoiselle can use 
mine until she obtains one of her own,” he said. 

As soon as Seraph heard the favorable result of - 
the special conference, she flew to Monsieur Nardi 
to impart the good news. 

Oh, Uncle ’Nidas,” she cried joyfully; again she 
was all animation and energy. Cousin Franz and 
mamma have listened to Professor Vortman, and I 
am to take up the violin again.” 

Bien^ ires hien^ ma chere petite amie ! I am happy 


A DILEMMA. 


159 


for you. You have been so good and patient. Now 
see the reward.” 

Mais, cher oncle^' and the happy little face 
clouded for a moment, ‘‘how can I play with- 
out papa’s violin? Another will not seem the 
same.” 

“ Fmf, vrai, cherie ; but you must try to get used 
to another. There are some fine violins for sale 
here in the shops, although they are not genuine 
Guarnierii, as your father’s was.” 

“ Yes, Uncle ’Nidas, I know there are good ones. 
There is one I like in a little shop on Rue Royale. 
I have been there often to look at it, and Madame 
la marchande has let me play on it, and she says 
the bow is a vrai Tourte de Paris. You know 
they are the best. One must have a good bow as 
well as a good violin ; but, cher oncle, I can’t have 
that one. Mamma is not rich enough to buy it 
for me. I can only use Professor Vortman’s, and 
I can never love a borrowed violin.” 

“ Bah, hah, petite ! why not ? You love a borrowed 
marmoset ; nest ce pas f ” 

“ Ah, but Toto isn’t the same as a violin. I love 
Toto dearly, I like to borrow him, and I forget that 
he is not mine ; but a violin, ah ! that is not a 


i6o 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


marmoset. You see I couldn’t love a borrowed 
mamma as well as I love my own. ' That is the 
way I feel about a violin.” 

Yes, yes, I understand you ; yes, I understand.” 
Then a sudden radiance shone over Monsieur Nardi’s 
plain, old face and he laughed merrily, oiii, 

joauvre petite ; oui,je eomjyrends.'' 

‘‘ I am glad if you understand me. Uncle ’Nidas. 
Mamma says she doesn’t, and that I am foolish to 
feel so about a violin ; but I do, and I can’t help it.” 

^‘Well, ma petite y do you think I could • convince 
your mamma that you should have an instrument 
of your own ? Suppose I call on her. Suppose you 
run and ask her if she will receive me this evening 
at any hour she likes.” 

I know she will ; I know she’ll be glad to see 
you, dear Uncle ’Nidas, although she never sees 
any one but our cousins, because she is lame and 
obliged to remain in her chair all day ; but I know 
she will see you. I’ll run and ask her.” 

And Seraph ran out as swift-footed as a gazelle, 
her eyes shining, and her face full of joyous life. In 
a few moments she returned, radiant and breathless. 

Yes, yes, cher oncle ; mamma says she will be happy 
to see you. And she meant it; for her pale, sick face 


A DILEMMA. 


l6l 


was bright all over. She wants to thank you for 
being so good to us. Professor Vortman will leave 
his violin, and I will play you a new fantaisie he 
brought me, and — and we shall be happy again. 
Only poor Marc will not be here ; I wish he would 
come back now that you know — ” and her voice 
fell to a whisper. She felt that there was a grave 
secret between her and her old friend which must 
be respected. 

Yes, my child, I wish he would come back ; I 
shan’t be quite at ease until he does. I am trying 
to induce the men on the English ships to search 
for him when they return to Liverpool, by offering 
them a reward to bring him back. Patsy is as much 
interested as I am, and he is doing all he can. I 
think we shall see Marc again. I think he will 
return, when he knows how much I wish it.” 

Then we will forget how unhappy we have been 
since he went away, and everything will be just as 
it was, won’t it?” she asked, a little anxiously. 

Certainly, cherie, certainly ; all will be the 
same.” 

A la honne heure ! Now I must go and practise ; 
I am folle with joy. No more piano, no more jan- 
gling over hard keys. Look at my fingers, cher oncle; 


M 


62 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


they are alive now, all alive. You shall hear what 
music I can make. Good by till evening.” 

And she ran off with such a merry laugh that it 
warmed the heart of the old bookseller, who stood 
looking after her with a puzzled expression. Dear 
me ; how annoying ! ” he thought. I don’t want 
to think of it, and yet I do. I wish I could get at 
the bottom of that wretched little affair. There’s 
something I haven’t found out yet. I am convinced 
that Marc is innocent; but is guilty?” 

Monsieur Nardi’s visit to Madame Blumenthal 
was extremely satisfactory. The invalid, with her 
soft, curling hair prettily arranged, and in her dainti- 
est white robe de cliamhre, looked charmingly ex- 
pectant, as she gave her hand to her visitor’s kindly 
grasp. For a moment the old bookseller seemed 
embarrassed and ill at ease. Something in the 
faded, childish face before him brought back a 
flood of memories, — memories that always made 
him oblivious to time and place, — and he found it 
rather difficult to recover himself and confine his 
wandering thoughts to the necessities of the occasion. 

Gratitude and thanks always made him a little 
awkward and confused; and poor Louise, her heart 
full to overflowing, was profuse in her expressions 


A DILEMMA. 


163 


of indebtedness. During this little war of words, — 
protestations on her part, and modest denials on 
bis, — his momentary embarrassment passed un- 
noticed, and very soon he regained his composure, 
and they were chatting together as informally and 
intimately as though they had been life-long friends. 

Seraph slipped out of the room to play over her 
new fantaisie before Monsieur Nardi heard it ; and 
while she was gone there was a conference not 
intended for her ears between the visitor and her 
mother. When she returned with her violin, the 
conversation changed abruptly to another subject, 
and something like this was said by Louise, whose 
face was flushed with emotion : 

Have you noticed the peculiarity of that peach 
tree in my little garden ? The blossoms have faded 
and withered, but they have not fallen, and strange 
to say, although it bloomed so profusely, a leaf 
has never appeared.” 

Monsieur Nardi’s eyes twinkled, and he looked 
at Seraph as he said, I think this little fairy can 
explain the mystery of the peach tree ; I discovered 
it some time ago.” 

Oh, petite maman, didn’t you know that they 
weren’t real blossoms ? ” cried Seraph. Didn’t you 


164 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

know that I made them out of your scraps of 
muslin and silk, and tied them on ? I thought 
you found it out long ago, and only wanted me to 
think you didn’t know. Dear little mamma, see how 
I cheated you into being happy!” 

Louise laughed heartily, and, stroking the pretty 
hair fondly, said, OA, ma cJiere^ what a little trick- 
ster you are!” 

Then Seraph played exquisitely, and Monsieur 
Nardi listened like one in a happy dream. He was 
dangerously near those old delightful days, and 
again he felt as though he had united the threads 
of his life just where they were rudely broken 
nearly forty years before. 


XXI. 


SERAPH S FETE. 


ACH day Professor Vortman was more and 



more astonished at Seraph’s progress on the 
violin. As a plant which shoots more vigorously 
after its growth has been checked, the child’s talent 
seemed to spring out anew with fresh living power, 
— an abandon, a fervor, a strength, that enchanted 
the artistic feeling of her teacher. He did not now 
complain of apathy and dulness; her heart and soul 
were in her work, and there was danger of her 
giving too much vitality to her studies, instead of 
too little. 

There was only one small discord that marred 
the harmony of her otherwise perfect happiness, 
and that was the professor’s violin. It was a Ger- 
man instrument, and Seraph did not find it as 
responsive to her touch as the deeper, richer, more 
resonant Guarnieri upon which she had always 
played. Her father’s violin was the lost chord in 
the melody of her life. Until she found it again, 
she felt that she could never quite satisfy herself. 


1 66 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

The violin she liked best after her father’s was 
the old one in the little shop on the Rue Royale. 
Often she went there, and Madame would take it 
out of its case and hand it to Seraph as tenderly 
as though it were an infant. The mistress of the 
shop had become deeply interested in the pretty, 
well-bred child, who handled the instrument so care- 
fully, almost reverently, examining it with the 
greatest interest, and remarking on its fine points 
with the accuracy and intelligence of a connois- 
seur. 

Sometimes, when the door was closed, and there 
was no one in the shop but the mistress. Seraph 
would take the fine Tourte bow and draw such 
delicious strains from the old violin that Madame 
would forget her numerous affairs to listen spell- 
bound to the w^onderful little musician. 

^^Ah, mademoiselle,” she would say, wish 
you could have that instrument. It’s a genuine 
Cremona; I don’t pretend that it’s an Amati or a 
Stradivari, or any of those great names; but it’s a 
good one.” 

Yes,” Seraph would reply a little sadly. It’s 
a good one. The best I ever played on, except 
one, and that I shall never play on again. My 



SERAPH GREW VERY FOND OF THE CREMONA.” 




r - 



I 


/ ^ f »» 


ki 








•l 


h 







»• "J 



SERAPH FETE. 


167 


professor’s violin is very good, but it’s not like 
this. Yes, I wish I could have this, but it’s no use 
to wish. I’m sure I can’t. You are very kind, 
madame, to let me play on it, and I only hope 
you won’t sell it,” added Seraph, with more candor 
than tact. 

Madame smiled, and said pleasantly, Ah, you 
don’t mean that, mademoiselle. I am very anxious 
to find a customer. I’ve had this a long time. I 
paid a good price for it, so you see my money’s 
lying idle. Rich, fashionable people don’t come to 
my little shop when they want an instrument. It’s 
only those who haven’t much money, and they want 
something new and cheap. I’d like to sell it, but 
I’d like to sell it to you.” 

After a while Seraph grew so fond of the Cre- 
mona that when she had a spare half-hour she 
ran to the shop on the Rue Royale for the pleasure 
of playing on it. One day when she entered, Ma- 
dame met her at the door with an expression of 
mingled satisfaction and regret. Ali^ ma paiivre 
'petite '}nade'moiselle, I’ve unpleasant news for you, 
although I am very much pleased for myself. At 
last I have sold the Cremona.” 

Oh, madame ! Have you ? Is it gone ? and 


1 68 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINLSTE. 

the sharp note of sorrow in Seraph’s voice showed 
how deeply she felt its loss. 

Yes, ma cliere, it is gone. I closed the bargain 
two days ago. It had to be cleaned and put in 
order before my customer took it. Oh, it was 
beautiful in a brand-new case. I got a good price 
for it, so I threw in the case. A fine rosewood 
lined with blue velvet. I wish you could have 
seen it. The dear violin looked so rich in such 
an elegant case.” 

Seraph stood silent for a moment, her little face 
full of keen disappointment. While it was there, 
she felt somewhat as though it belonged to her, 
but now she could have no part nor lot with it in 
its prosperity of a new owner and a velvet-lined 
case. It was gone, and she must not even say 
that she was sorry. At length she said, a little 
reluctantly, however, Well, madarne, I’m glad you 
have found a customer, but — but I’m sorry it’s 
not here. I’m sorry I can’t play on it again.” 

^^So am I, cliere petite. I never heard a little girl 
play so beautifully, and I know I shall never hear 
another. Unfortunately I was obliged to let it go. 
I needed money, voila tout; but I shall often be 
longing to hear you again.” 


SERAPH'S FETE. 


169 


After this interchange of gentle amenities Seraph 
went away dejectedly, and tried to forget her new 
loss by vigorously attacking the professor’s rather 
strident instrument, from which she drew such 
wildly rebellious strains, that poor little Louise 
was obliged to cover her ears in order to shut out 
the discordant notes, which always tortured her 
weak nerves. 

It was Seraph’s birthday. She was twelve years 
old, and Monsieur Nardi had prepared a little f§te for 
her. It w^as to be held in his garden, and it was to be 
what he laughingly called a musical fete champitre. 
A dozen or so of his small neighbors were there, and 
as it was given in Seraph’s honor, Madame Arnet 
had allowed Madge to join the little party. Under 
a large fig tree was arranged a platform, and before 
it were placed a number of chairs for the small audi- 
ence. Romeo had not forgotten any of the details 
of the former open-air concerts, so he had provided 
a basket of flowers to shower upon the little vio- 
liniste. And Cressy had arranged a table in the 
multiflora arbor, on which were fruits, cakes, and 
bon-bons of every variety, as well as the pretty 
gifts of each little visitor. 

Seraph was unusually happy, for it was the first 


170 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


time that her mother had consented to leave the 
retirement of her room. Monsieur Nardi had re- 
quested it as a particular favor; and there she sat 
in her wheel-chair in the midst of the merry group, 
looking very pretty and delicate, in a dainty white 
gown, with a tiny flower-bonnet resting on her curly 
hair. Her stained fingers were covered with pearl- 
gray gloves, and she shaded her tired eyes with a 
rose-colored parasol, a remnant of her happy girlhood. 

Seraph had seen her mother dressed in that way 
before her father had been taken from them. The 
invalid often went out then in her wheel-chair in 
spite of her lameness, and she remembered how proud 
and happy she had been walking beside her pretty, 
dainty, little mother, while her father pushed the 
chair always talking and laughing in his merry, 
light-hearted fashion. 

At last, when the preparations were complete, 
and Seraph was ready to play. Cousin Franz and 
Professor Vortman came through the shop into the 
garden quite as if by accident, and then the satis- 
faction of the little violin iste was perfect. She had 
secretly wished that Cousin Franz and her teacher 
could hear her at her best, and she felt in the mood 
to surprise them. 


SERAPH'S FETE. 


I7I 


When the curtain which Monsieur Nardi had 
so cleverly arranged with Romeo’s assistance was 
drawn aside, the child made a charming picture. 
She stood in a bower of green leaves and blossoms, 
while the dark foliage’ of the fig-tree made an effec- 
tive background for her lovely face, beaming eyes, 
and shining golden hair. On this occasion she 
wore, instead of her masquerade costume, a simple 
white frock, confined at the waist by a soft silk 
sash. 

Her surroundings were so harmonious, so perfect, 
that there was scarcely room for one desire. Yet 
there was one, and it was the wish for her father’s 
violin. But she was so excited, so elated, that she 
did not allow that one regret to disconcert her. She 
played her best, her very best, and perhaps it is 
not too much praise to say that Professor Vortman’s 
violin never emitted more delicious strains. 

When she had finished her first sonata there was 
a burst of applause, amid which could be distinctly 
heard the rattling of Romeo’s bony fingers. Then 
such a shower of blossoms ! They fell around her 
thicker than leaves in Vallombrosa. And as she 
stooped to gather them, she saw Madge before her 
holding up a mound of flowers, out of all proportion 


172 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

to the small hands that grasped it. But there was 
something under the flowers, — a case, a violin case. 
Among the flowers lay a card on which was written 
la charmante intite violiniste, avec le devouement 
de V Oncle 'NidasA 

With trembling fingers Seraph opened the case, 
and there, on its blue velvet lining, lay the Cremona 
violin from the shop on the Rue Royale. 


XXII. 


A DOUBLE SUCCESS. 

S O astonished and delighted was Seraph by the 
present of the much-desired violin that she did 
not notice a sudden and important addition to her 
audience, — a handsome, richly gowned woman and 
a fine-looking boy of about sixteen. They were dis- 
tinguished guests, but their manner was very simple 
and unaffected. They shook hands cordially with 
Monsieur Nardi, who presented them to Madame 
Bluinenthal, Cousin Franz, and Professor Vortman. 

The new arrivals were Madame St. Maxent and 
her son Maurice, and they had not dropped in by 
accident. Monsieur Nardi had planned the little 
fete expressly to give his friends an opportunity 
of hearing Seraph at her best, and the success he 
desired was doubtless secured, for they had entered 
at a moment when the child looked simply angelic, 
as she stood in her pretty bower, holding the violin 
in her arms, her face a study of varying emotions. 
G-ratitude, joy, and triumph beamed from her eyes, 
while her lips curved in a smile of rapture. 


173 


74 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLIN I STE. 


Madame St. Maxent and Maurice declared that 
they had never seen a prettier little tableau. 

But please wait, madame, until you. hear her 
play,” said Monsieur Nardi, his homely old face 
beaming with satisfaction. It is true that she is 
a lovely child, but her playing ! Ah, it is heavenly !” 

While Monsieur Nardi was talking with his 
guests. Professor Yortman was assisting Seraph to 
tune the Cremona. ‘AYhat shall I play?” she whis- 
pered, for she had discovered the new arrivals, and 
for a moment was a little embarrassed. 

‘^Repeat the same sonata,” he replied. Play it 
as well as you played it before, and I shall be 
satisfied.” 

But I must thank dear Uncle ’Nidas for the 
Cremona.” 

Thank him by your playing. Do your best for 
his friends; that will show your gratitude, ma chere; 
that will please him more than words.” 

When the Cremona was perfectly accorded, and 
the music arranged, Professor Yortman went back 
to his seat, and Seraph made her graceful bow 
to her audience, and began her score with the com- 
posure of one who had passed her life in public. 

So absorbed was she with the new instrument, with 


A DOUBLE SUCCESS. 


175 


the incomparable strains evoked by the Tourte bow, 
and the rich resonant tones of the Cremona, that 
she was for the time oblivious to her surroundings; 
and as she bent her inspired little face over the 
instrument, she seemed to impart some of her own 
fresh young life to the inanimate wood. She and 
the violin seemed to breathe and throb together 
with the vigor and passion, as well as the delicacy 
and tenderness, of one of Bach’s most beautiful 
sonatas. 

It was really a remarkable performance for a 
child ; and when the last lingering, liquid strain died 
into silence, there was a storm of heartfelt applause 
and another shower of blossoms, and Seraph stepped 
from her small bower unutterably happy and radi- 
antly triumphant. 

In a moment she was surrounded by her audi- 
ence. Madame St. Maxent drew her to her and 
kissed her warmly, and Maurice congratulated her 
in a simple, boyish fashion. Every note had gone 
straight to his heart, but he could not express what 
he felt. He loved the violin as well as Seraph did, 
but, as his mother had remarked to Monsieur Nardi, 
he lacked the touch, the divine touch, which he 
recognized in the child’s playing. 


176 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Even Cousin Franz was obliged to acknowledge 
that Seraph had a special gift, and to admit to the 
professor that he had done well with his little pupil. 

As soon as Seraph could leave the distinguished 
visitors, she flew to her mother, and embracing her 
warmly, whispered, chere maman, how can I 

thank Uncle ’Nidas ? My heart is so full that I am 
afraid I shall cry if I try to tell him how happy 
I am.” 

Don’t try to tell him now, cherie. Wait until 
you are calmer; he knows how grateful you are. 
Look at his face, my child ; he is as happy as you 
are.” 

Louise was right. He was perfectly satisfied with 
the result of his little entertainment, for he had 
not only interested Madame St. Maxent in his ])ro- 
tegee, but he had enlisted her sympathy for the 
invalid mother as well. 

The kind hearted elegante had drawn a chair 
close to Louise, and after heartily congratulating 
her on the success of the little violiniste, with a 
gentle and friendly interest led the invalid to 
speak of herself. 

Is it possible that you are unable to walk ? ” 
she asked. 


A DOUBLE SUCCESS. 


177 


have not walked for nearly twelve years/’ re- 
plied Louise piteously. 

How unfortunate ! Then you go out very little ? ” 

Almost never. To-day I have made an effort 
for my child. It is so near, and Monsieur Nardi 
is such a good friend, I could not refuse him ; but 
I am accustomed to my imprisonment,” added Louise 
resignedly ; I seldom wish to go out.” 

You must let me make you wish to go. You 
must allow me to come and take you and that 
lovely child to drive.” 

Oh, how kind ! ” murmured Louise. Thank 
you ; you are too good.” 

Yes, to myself,” returned Madame St. Maxent, 
laughing. Ask my old friend ; he will tell you that 
I must always have some life about me. As I have 
no children, — for Maurice is no longer a child, — 
I take my dogs to drive, and you must admit that 
you and your charming child will be pleasanter 
companions than those troublesome little animals.” 

^Mt is very considerate of you to put it in that 
way,” returned Louise, with a grateful smile. Seraph 
might amuse you, but I am very dull ; I shrink a 
little from seeing people. I am nervous and shy.” 

Oh, we will go where it is very quiet ; to the 


178 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


lake, to some of the parks. You must give me 
the pleasure of trying to make your life a little 
brighter. You must get well for the sake of that 
clever child. I can assure you she has a brilliant 
future before her, and she will need you to steer 
her safely amid the shoals and quicksands of life.” 

Louise’s eyes filled with tears. ^^Yes, for my 
child’s sake I wish to be strong.” 

‘‘Well, we will see what we can do to help you. 
I am greatly interested in your fascinating little 
daughter, and I should like to have the honor of 
helping to launch her. I hope you will allow her 
to visit me often. My son will enjoy playing duets 
with her. He is as enthusiastic about her as I am. 
I must ask Monsieur Nardi to bring her to me, and 
that excellent professor also. A very interesting 
man, and I am sure a superior instructor. I must 
engage him for Maurice.” 

Without intending it. Monsieur Nardi had, by 
the means of his little fete, not only launched 
Seraph, but he had given Professor Vortman a 
vigorous push in the direction of success. To be 
the instructor of Maurice St. Maxent was a recom- 
mendation that would open to him the doors of 
the rich and fashionable. 


A DOUBLE SUCCESS. 


179 


After the guests of honor had partaken of Cressy’s 
little feast, served by the dignified and delighted 
Romeo, they withdrew as quietly as they had 
entered, and the children were left to enjoy them- 
selves in their own way. 

Although Monsieur Nardi had anticipated great 
good from bringing Madame St. Maxent and Seraph 
together, he had not expected his endeavors to be 
crowned with such pleasant and important results ; 
for he did not foresee that the gay woman of the 
world would interest herself in the poor little in- 
valid by offering to try to make her life brighter 
and happier ; therefore his little fete was a double 
success, especially when the desired patronage and 
favor extended even to Professor Vortman. 


XXIII. 


A NEW LIFE. 

TTTHEN Cousin Franz returned home and told 
’ ^ Madame Arnet of Seraph’s success, the good 
lady was quite animated over the reflected honor. 

Really, Mr. Arnet, how very flattering to Seraph ; 
but I’m not surprised at her playing well. Of 
course she can play the violin. It comes natural 
to her. It seems to me that she doesn’t deserve 
any special praise for playing the violin. She was 
horn with a gift for it, but I am surprised that 
Madame St. Maxent should go there to hear her, 
and that she should think so much of her playing. 
I suppose she didn’t notice Madge. Now, as I look 
at it, Madge should be commended for playing on 
the piano as well as she does when she has no 
natural taste for it.” 

But Madge didn’t play on the piano ; no one 
played the piano, Rachel. I am speaking of Seraph’s 
playing the violin. Her playing was remarkable.” 
^‘Yes, Mr. Arnet, yes, I understood what you 

180 


A NEW LIFE. iSl 

said ; but if Madge had played I mean — I think 
Madame St. Maxent would have been pleased with 
her progress — considering she has no gift/’ re- 
turned Madame Arnet, floundering hopelessly in 
her effort to make herself understood. 

Nonsense, Rachel/’ said Cousin Franz impa- 
tiently. Madge is a good German scholar, but 
she can’t play the piano. This affair of Seraph 
has opened my eyes to some rather serious truths 
in regard to the education of children. I see now 
that I was wrong in trying to force Seraph to 
study the piano. She would have met with no 
success in that direction, but with her talent for 
the violin, and Madame St. Maxent’ s patronage, 
she will make a reputation. Professor Vortman 
says she is the most promising pupil that he ever 
had. He predicts great things for her. He wishes 
her to study with him for a couple of years, and 
then, he says, she must go to the Paris Con- 
servatoire. But that, I fear, will be impossible. I 
am very anxious about Louise’s affairs. When the 
money that I got for the violin is gone, she will 
be in a very trying position.” 

^^And she surely can’t expect you to support 
her,” said Madame Arnet sharply. She knows 


i 82 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


that your salary is small, that our church is poor, 
and she has no claims on me.” 

No, certainly, Rachel, she has no claims on you ; 
but she has on her husband’s cousin, and I shall 
do the best I can, trusting in a kind Father to 
help me.” 

Oh ! I would not worry about her, Mr. Arnet. 
It’s likely Madame St. Maxent will do something 
for her, if she is interested in Seraph. She* ought 
to. The rich ought to help the poor.” And the 
minister’s wife, after this wise conclusion, settled 
down comfortably to her needle-work. 

Madame Arnet was not wrong in her prediction. 
Madame St. Maxent did help Louise in many ways. 
First, and most important, she encouraged her to 
hope, for with hope as a support even the most 
feeble and helpless can struggle against cruel diffi- 
culties. The poor invalid had lived only from day 
to day, shuddering when she thought of the months 
and years before her. She was tired of life, weary 
of constant and ill-paid labor, and disgusted with her 
cramped, narrow environment, but she could not ask 
nor hope for freedom while she had her child. She 
must live for her, she must bear her burden as she 
best could, in patient and uncomplaining endurance. 


A NE IV LIFE. 


When Madame St. Maxent first visited Louise, 
seeing her at her dainty and difficult labor, and 
learning how little she received for it, she decided 
to find customers for the invalid who would pay 
her in proportion to the perfection of her work. 

My little friend,” she said, “ we will change all 
this. Croizet is a wretch, and I will never buy 
another flower from her. You shall sell your flow- 
ers yourself. You shall take your own orders. I 
will send my friends to you. Finish what you have 
on hand and send them to that wicked woman, 
with every scrap of material that belongs to 
her.” 

But, dear madame, if I offend her, she will never 
employ me again,” said Louise tremulously. 

‘^Wim/porte ; you won’t need her work ; very 
soon you will build up a patronage for yourself.” 

And the material ? I have not the means to 
purchase it.” 

will attend to that. Give me a list of all 
you need, and I can give you an order at once. 
Make a half-dozen of those beautiful flower-bonnets, 
such as you wore the other day at Monsieur Nardi’s 
little fete; vary the flowers, and I can dispose of 
them all among my friends for twenty dollars each. 


184 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOIJNISTE. 

They are very fashionable, and Croizet asks from 
twenty-five to thirty dollars for them.” 

^^And she pays me about five dollars for one,” 
sighed Louise. 

“ Then there are roses for the carnival. I will 
take it upon myself to order them from you. They 
will not be needed for some time, but you can 
begin them, and work on them at your leisure. In 
the meantime I will send a young friend, who is to 
be married soon, to you for her bridal 'parure^ and 
you must allow me to fix the prices. You are too 
modest, you underestimate your talent, and charge 
too little. You must be paid the same as that 
dishonest Croizet, who has been getting rich off your 
work.” 

Madame St. Maxent was as good as her word. 
Very soon customers poured in, and Louise had all 
the orders she could fill. Even Seraph’s little fin- 
gers were kept busy when she was not practising 
on the violin. She was delighted to assist her 
mother, and displayed a great deal of taste for the 
pretty work. The mother and child made a charm- 
ing picture, bending over the table covered with 
flowers of adorable tints, — Seraph, bright, joyous, 
and full of animation, her busy fingers fluttering 


A NEW LIFE. 


185 


among the blossoms while she chattered merrily; 
Louise, pale and serious, listening with calm content, 
and both as happy as heart could wish. 

And their days were not all labor. Often Ma- 
dame St. Maxent came and took them out in her 
carriage, cheerfully quoting the old adage about 
all work and no play.” These were gala days 
for Seraph and her mother; no matter how busy 
they were, their active friend would listen to no 
excuses. It was part of her plan for their happi- 
ness, and she would not be thwarted. Everything 
w^as laid aside, toilets were hastily made, and Louise 
was wheeled out to the carriage by Romeo, and lifted 
in by the strong coachman, often assisted by Mon- 
sieur Nardi, while Fifine, Nanette, and the other 
children looked on in silent admiration. 

The glossy horses would stamp a little, and 
champ their bits impatiently. Monkey would give 
a series of joyous barks from the shop door, and 
the carriage would roll oft, accompanied by Maurice, 
clattering after them on his spirited pony, and 
Seraph, from the front seat, would wave her hand 
to Uncle ’Nidas, who stood watching them, with 
a beaming face, until they turned swiftly into Rue 
Royale. 


1 86 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

In the spring they often drove out by the beau- 
tiful Bayou St. John, and as they neared the lake, 
came upon the wide stretch of low land where 
the jleur-de-lis blooms so luxuriantly, carpeting for 
miles, with shimmering white, amethyst, blue, and 
pale rose, both sides of the slender, sinuous bayou. 

To the invalid, who had lived so long within 
the narrow bounds of four walls, this vast expanse, 
this wide stretch of softly blended color, harmon- 
izing so perfectly with the blue of the lake, the 
dark outlines of the old Spanish fort, and the 
masses of gray-green foliage clearly defined against 
the saffron and rose of the sky, made an enchant- 
ing picture, which lingered in her memory, and 
haunted her with its beauty, even after she had 
entered into the silence and solitude of her dull 
little room. 

It was indeed a new world, and a new life, that 
Madame St. Maxent’s generosity and thoughtful 
kindness had opened up to her. And each day she 
grew stronger, more hopeful, and better equipped 
for the battle of life. 


xxiy. 


EOMEO’S CONFESSION. 


TEAMER after steamer arrived from Liverpool, 



^ and Monsieur Nardi heard nothing of Marc, 
although Patsy had interviewed all the sailors, and 
informed every one connected with the numerous 
ships of the liberal reward offered by the old book- 
seller to any one who would induce the boy to 
return. 

Every few days Patsy would enter the bookshop, 
hat in hand, his liair noticeably sleek, and his face 
newly shaven, and about the same dialogue would 
ensue. 

Good mornin’, sir ; another steamer at the 
levee, sir.” 

Ah ! any news ? ” 

No news, sir.” 

Do you think they are trying to find him ? ” 

Sure, sir ; that reward w^ould fetch ’em.” 

It seems as though they might find some trace 
of him.” 


187 


i88 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Yes, sir, it seems so, but I reckon you might 
as well look for a needle in a haystack, as to look 
for a little shaver like that among all them people 
on them Liverpool docks, sir.” 

Yes, I know, Patsy ; but I hoped the boy 
might board some of the ships to ask for news 
from home.” 

Poor little chap ! I guess he don’t mean to 
have anything to do with us. He went away 
proud and hurt like. Seein’ he was innocent, he 
felt as though it wasn’t just, an’ he had principles, 
that little kid had.” 

I know it, oh, I know it ! ” almost groaned 
Monsieur Nardi, and that is why I am so anxious 
to get him back. He thinks I wronged him, and, 
poor child ! I wouldn’t harm a hair of his head.” 

Well, we won’t give up, sir. While there’s a 
ray of hopes, I’m agoin’ on enquirin’ an’ keepin’ 
the interest alive. Pm gettin’ to be a pest to them 
sailors, sir, with my everlastin’ questions, an’ advice 
as how to find him. If I was over there, I’d light 
on him right off. Somethin’ would tell me where 
the little kid was. I never knowed how near that 
boy was till he was gone.” 

‘•Nor I, either, Patsy,” returned Monsieur Nardi 


ROMEO'S CONFESSION. 1 89 

dejectedly. I can’t give him up. I can’t be con- 
tented until I see him again.” 

I guess, sir, if the little chap knowed how 
much we wanted him back, he’d come jest to 
oblige us. Well, good mornin’, sir. They say there’s 
another steamer below the bend, an’ I must be on 
the levee when she gets up. Who knows, sir, who 
knows, but he’ll be on this one? Good mornin’, sir, 
— I must hurry, — good mornin’.” And Patsy would 
step off as briskly as his stiff old legs would allow. 

About this time, Romeo was taken ill, and lay 
all day moaning and groaning in his little room ; 
and Madame Blumenthal was obliged to have the 
woman who washed her linen and did other odd 
work, to come in and take his place. From the 
first of his illness, Cressy had been very attentive, 
and Seraph had devoted herself to him in a 
way that showed her affection for the faithful 
old servant. 

“That ole man’s mighty porely,” said Lisa, the 
negress who had taken his place. “An’ it seems 
ter me, mam’selle, that it’s his pore mine what’s 
troubled. He ain’t got no partikler misery in his 
body; he’s jes’ ole an’ wore out, an’ somefin’ is 
a-pressin’ on his mine, an’ he can’t sleep an eat. 


1 90 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLLNISTE. 

Cressy says he has fever/’ said Seraph, with 
a startled look. Trouble on his mind wouldn’t 
give him fever, would it?” 

Suttenly, mam’selle, — the hottes’ kine of fever. 
I knowed a lil’ gal what took a dime from her ma. 
It was this a way. Her ma sont her to market for 
a grillade, an’ she bought ginger cake ’stead o’ the 
grillade, an’ et it, an’ tole her ma how she done los’ 
the dime, an’ that same night she was took with 
misery in her stomack, an’ the hottes’ kine o’ 
fever.” 

Perhaps she ate too much ginger cake,” sug- 
gested Seraph. 

Oh no ! Shorely a dime o’ ginger cake wouldn’t 
give no colored chile misery in the stomack, much 
lessen fever; ’twas jes’ her conshuns what hurted 
her, an’ she was bad off when Deacon Spotts cum 
ter pray wid her; an’ she up an’ ’fessed an’ got well 
right off.” 

^‘Did she — did she get well right away?” asked 
Seraph, with sudden interest. 

Suttenly, rnam^selle, she shorely did ; that same 
night she was able to set up an’ eat poke an’ 
greens.” 

Seraph walked away to the shed room, in deep 


ROMEO'S CONFESSION. 


I9I 

thought. At the door she lingered, listening. 
Romeo was moaning and muttering to himself. 

Oh Lor’, have mussy on my pore ole soul ! Oh, 
I is sich a sinner! I is wusser dan der tief on 
der cross. But, good Lor’, can’t yer have mussy 
on me jes’ es yer done on dat tief. Oh, I’s sinned 
wusser dan Judas ’Scariot, an’ I a ’fessin’ Christian. 
I’s ’nied my Lor’, an’ I can’t get no peace. I’s 
bin a ras’lin’ wid der sperrit, ever sence I done 
dat deed, an’ I can’t git no peace. But Lor’, dear, 
good Lor’, yer knowed how I was tempted ; yer 
knowed how turruble I was tempted. I couldn’t 
see dat pore chile what Mas’ Carl lef’ in my care 
jes’ a dyin’ fer dat bottle o’ Jew-crow. Oh Lor’, 
I couldn’t ’sist dat temptation when I was in sich 
straits. Yer knowed, good Lor’, dat it wasn’t fer 
me, — dis pore ole nigger doesn’t mine goin’ hongry 
an’ cole if dem chil’ren is jes’ comf’able. I wouldn’t 
a done it only fer Miss Louise. Pore chile, she was 
pale an’ weak, an’ dat blessed lil’ angel wid her^ 
bare footses mos’ on der grown’.” 

Seraph could hear no more. A sudden sob re- 
vealed her presence, and Romeo’s expression sud- 
denly changed from a look of mental agony to a 
ghastly attempt at a smile. 


192 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINISTE. 


Why, Miss Seraph, is you a cryin’ ? Bress my 
soul, what is yer cryin’ fer, honey?” 

Because — because I am so sorry for you, 
Romeo,” said Seraph, swallowing her sobs. 

Why, chile, yer don’t t’ink I’s goin’ ter die, 
does yer ? Shorely I ain’t sick ernulf ter die, is 
I? My fever’s done gone, on’y — on’y I is res’less 
an’ onsartain like; my mine’s sick; der misery’s in 
my mine. I’s tired ras’lin’ wid der sperrit. I’s 
done wore out ; my ’ligion don’t gib me peace, 
honey. Dat’s my sickness mo’ dan der fever.” 

If it’s your mind, Romeo, can’t you do some- 
thing to cure your mind ? ” asked Seraph persua- 
sively. Lisa just told me’ of a little girl who 
had misery in her mind, or perhaps it was her 
conscience. She had been wicked, and when she 
confessed, she got well right away and was able 
to sit up and eat pork and greens.” 

Lor’, chile, do tell me if dat’s true ! ” And 
Romeo’s haggard old face took on a hopeful look. 

Yes, Romeo, it’s true. Lisa knew the little 
girl. She, had something on her mind and she 
confessed!' 

^‘You say she ’fessed. Miss Seraph; now who did 
she ’fess to?” 


ROMEO'S CONFESSION, 


193 


To a Deacon Potts, I think Lisa said.” 

Oh Lor’, Miss Seraph, I couldn’t git cured dat 
a way. Dat would brung a r’proach on ’ligion, an’ 
de Bible say ^ wo ter him dat brung der r’proach.’ 
No, no, I couldn’t ’fess ter Deacon Spotts. No, 
I couldn’t ’fend der Lor’ dat a way,” repeated 
Romeo uneasily and with unmistakable decision.^ • 
^^Well, then, Romeo, couldn’t you confess to 
Uncle ’Nidas ? He’s so good and forgiving, couldn’t 
you confess to him ? ” urged Seraph sweetly. “ I 
want you to get well. Mamma needs you. She 
isn’t used to Lisa. Lisa doesn’t market as you 
do. Mamma says she spends too much money. 
Oh, Romeo, you must confess and get well.” 

I’s feared o’ M’sieu’ ’Nidas, honey ; he mought 
— he mought — ” 

Oh no ! Romeo ; he won’t ; he told me, he said 
if any one had — had — Well, you know what I 
mean, Romeo. He said he wouldn’t punish any 
one. I can’t explain, but if I had misery in my 
mind as you have, I would send for dear Uncle 
’Nidas and confess as soon as I could ; so that I 
could get well. I’m afraid if you don’t you’ll be 
worse, and perhaps you’ll never get over it.’ 

Romeo groaned in the spirit. ''Oh Lor’, have 


194 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


miissy on me. Oh, Miss Seraph, honey, I’s a ras’- 
lin’ wid der sperrit dis very minnit. It’s turruble, 
turruble ; I’s inos’ s’hausted. I’s mos’ outdone, 
but I’s goin’ ter git der victory. I’s go in’ ter 
’less all ter M’sieu’ ’Nidas. Run, honey, run while 
I’s got der strenf, an’ quest him ter step in right 
off, er maybe I won’t have der courage.” 

Seraph scarcely waited to hear the last of the 
sentence. She darted out, pale and tremulous with 
the importance of her mission. 

In a moment she returned, her face bright and 
hopeful. He is coming right away, Romeo ; he’s 
right behind me. Confess every thmg — don’t be 
afraid — Uncle ’Nidas has promised to — to forgive 
— no matter what it is. Now I’ll run and tell 
Lisa to cook you some pork and greens.” 

When Monsieur Nardi entered the shed room, 
the old negro was sitting up, holding out his arms 
entreatingly, and fairly writhing under the stress 
of the moment. 

Oh, M’sieu’ Nardi, I wants ter ’fess der trufe, 
der Lor’s trufe ; I wants ter tell you what a sinner 
I is, but won’t yer promise me not ter take der 
law on me, not ter sen’ me ter jail fer de sake of 
dese two pore children what’s ’pendent on me?” 


ROMEO'S CONFESSION. 


195 


''Go on, my old friend, go on; tell me all about 
it,” said Monsieur Nardi kindly; "and no matter 
what it is, I promise to forgive you before I hear 
it.” 

" Bress der Lor’, bress der Lor’,” murmured 
Romeo fervently. " An’ yer won’t tell Miss 
Louise, an’ dat chile, please M’sieu’ ’Nidas, ’cause 
dey ’siders ole Romeo a good hones’ servant.” 

" What passes between us will remain a secret. 
Go on, my friend ; don’t be afraid, go on,” urged 
Monsieur Nardi gently. 

" Yer see, M’sieu’ Nardi, I’s got ter tell yer all 
dat story ; I’s got ter ’spose Miss Louise’s pov’ty. 
A’ter dat money done stop cornin’ from Germany 
she was dreffully pinched. She didn’t have 
money ter buy som’fin ter eat, an’ if it hadn’t bin 
fer Miss Cressy a-givin’ me lil’ things outen yore 
kitchen, an’ what money she paid me fer ’sistin’ 
her, they would o’ gone hungry plenty times, an’ 
Miss Louise was gettin’ peaked an’ weak, an’ 
couldn’t sit up to make dem flowers, ’cause she 
didn’t have der med’cine, der Jew-crow, what der 
doctor done ordered, an’ Miss Seraph’s shoes was all 
wored out, an’ no money to buy some. One day 
I found two loose boards in der fence, an’ I use 


196 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

ter slip ’em aside an’ step inter yore kitchen, when 
Miss Cressy was a-waitin’ on you, ’cause she done 
told me I could pick up any lil’ thing ter eat, 
what was a settin’ ’roun’, an’ wasn’t no use. An’ 
dat mawnin’ I seed er basket er grapes on der 
table by der win’er, an’ der glass was open, and I 
jes’ reach frew ter take a han’ful fer Miss Louise, 
’cause she likes grapes pow’ful, an’ right dar on 
der table, jes’ as if der good Lor’ done put it on 
pu’pose fer me ter take, was two silber dollars, 
one fer de Jew-crow an’ one fer Miss Seraph’s 
shoes. I didn’t stop ter think dat it mought be 
stealin’. I jes’ clap ’em in my ole pocket, an’ 
step quick frew der hole in der fence, an’ no one 
ain’t seen me in yore yard dat mawnin’, an’ no 
one ain’t knowed ’bout dat hole in der fence. Den 
Miss Louise sont me wid de flowers, an’ done tol’ 
me ter ask Ma’me Croizet ter pay her a lil’ mo’, 
’cause dey was mo’ wuk, an’ Ma’me Croizet she 
’fuse ter gib a nickle mo’ ; but I jes’ bought der 
Jew-crow, an’ tole Miss Louise how Ma’me Croizet 
sont her two dollars extra, den I bought der shoes 
fer Miss Seraph wid der las’ dollar. Now, M’sieu’ 
’Nidas, I done tole yer de whole trufe, an’ what 
gib me der misery in my mine was ’cause dat 


ROMEO^S CONFESSION. 


197 


pore boy got blamed fer my wickednesses. Now 
yer knows he didn’t take dat money.” 

‘‘1 knew that before/’ said Monsieur Nardi 
quietly. 

‘^An’ you didn’t s’pect me?” 

^‘No, Romeo, I didn’t suspect you, because I 
didn’t know about the hole in the fence,” returned 
the old gentleman dryly. ^^It is true, my poor 
old friend, that the temptation was very great, 
but I wish you had asked for the money. It 
would have saved much trouble. Never allow 
yourself to be tempted again. Come to me when 
you need anything. Do you understand ? Come 
to me. I am glad that you have had the courage, 
even at this late hour, to confess your fault. 
Now lie down and go to sleep, and to-morrow 
you will feel better.” 

Bress der Lor’, M’sieu’ ’Nidas ! Bress der Lor’ ! 
You’s mighty good ter me, an’ I feel der misery 
a-goin’ off a’ready. I’s better a’ready. Tank der 
Lor’ ! ” And Romeo laid his trembling old head 
back on his pillow, with the feeling of one who 
has been suddenly relieved of an oppressive burden. 

‘^What a noble soul the child has,” thought 
Monsieur Nardi, as he went back to his shop. 


198 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

“ She knew it was Romeo who took the money, 
and in order to clear Marc, and at the same time 
to shield her old servant, she preferred that I 
should think she was guilty. I knew there was 
something back of it all that I did not under- 
stand. There would have been no mystery had I 
known that my yard had another entrance besides 
the gate which Cressy guards so faithfully. Well, 
I am glad it is explained at last. Now, if I 
could find Marc, I should be happy again.” 


XXY. 


THE WHITE SHIP. 



T was a year after Marc’s departure, and spring 


had come around again. The fig tree in 
Monsieur Nardi’s garden was putting forth its 
leaves, and the multiflora rose was one mass of 
pale blossoms. Nearly every evening Seraph came 
to play her Cremona under its fragrant shade, 
while Monsieur Nardi sat near by and listened 
dreamily. Sometimes Professor Yortman joined 
them, and often Louise was brought out in her 
wheel-chair to enjoy the sweetness and beauty of 
spring. 

Romeo, in his confession, had given Monsieur 
Nardi a hint for a very convenient and pleasant 
arrangement. Where the loose pickets had been, 
much to Seraph’s delight. Uncle ’Nidas had put a 
little gate, and as it always stood open, the two 
yards were like one. Monkey romped in and out, 
and Toto, who appreciated beauty in a wise, serious 
way, passed most of his time on Louise’s work-table, 
examining her flowers with a fastidious air, and 


199 


200 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


sniffing at them a little disdainfully, as if he knew 
that they lacked perfume ; and even Flute's cage 
hung as often on one side of the fence as on the 
other, while the best understanding existed between 
the domestics of the two small families. 

Cressy and Romeo were mutually interested, work- 
ing together in beautiful harmony for the general 
good. Seraph was practising with constant delight, 
and always improving under the careful instruction 
of her excellent professor, who now had as many 
pupils as he desired, but none who equalled in 
talent and beauty Cousin Franz’s little protegee. 
Louise worked cheerfully at her numerous orders, 
which yielded her a comfortable income. Owing 
to Madame St. Maxent’s kindness, her health was 
improving, and each day she felt stronger, happier, 
and more hopeful. 

While there was only peace and harmony in the 
little cottage on St. Louis Street, Cousin Franz, in 
his larger and more imposing house, often found 
himself disturbed by small squalls and contrary 
winds. Madge, the demure and docile Madge, was 
beginning to develop a character of her own, and 
much to her parent’s astonishment, a rather light 
and frivolous character. 


THE WHITE SHIP. 


201 


Madame Arnet, notwithstanding her stolid and 
practical nature, was not without vanity, and a 
kind of envy, which she dignified with the name 
of ambition. Since Seraph had made influential 
friends, she wished that Madge should also ; there- 
fore she had put her little daughter at a fashion- 
able school on Esplanade Avenue, where she 
associated with rich and dressy girls who had been 
brought up in a manner entirely at variance with 
Cousin Franz’s ideas and theories. And quiet, 
demure little Madge saw a great deal with her 
large light eyes, and heard a great deal with the 
small ears nestled under her fawn-colored hair. 

Madge said little, but she thought the more. She 
knew that she had money left her by her father; 
she imagined that she was rich, and she saw no 
reason why she could not have flowers and feathers 
in her hats, and wear smart little silk frocks as 
well as the other girls in her class. Her taste for 
millinery was rapidly improving. From being a 
manufacturer of dolls’ confections she became a con- 
noisseuse of larger headgear, and objected so stren- 
uously to her plain hats and equally plain frocks, 
that her mother and Cousin Franz were scandal- 
ized. 


202 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


She suddenly announced a distaste for the solid 
language of her forefathers, and declared a prefer- 
ence for French and Italian, which was followed 
up by a fancy for china-painting. Really, Madge 
was developing in the most remarkable manner. 
It was very much as though a meek dove had 
unexpectedly changed into a gay macaw. 

Madame Arnet stitched away, outwardly calm, 
but inwardly floundering in deep waters of doubt 
and anxiety ; while Cousin Franz, more perplexed 
than ever over the enigma of the human mind, 
wished devoutly that another Professor Vortman 
would turn up and solve the problem in Madge’s 
case as easily and successfully as it had been 
solved in Seraph’s. 

And while all these little incidents were taking 
place, and the drama of each life was unfolding as 
the destiny of each decreed, nothing was heard of 
Marc, and Monsieur Nardi, although never recon- 
ciled to the thought, began to feel that the boy 
was gone forever, and it was a shadow on his 
life and on his heart that never could be lifted 
until he found the means of making some repara- 
tion for the wrong done the child. 

One lovely • evening, when twilight was drawing 


THE WHITE SHIP. 


203 


on, he wandered down to the levee, and stood in 
his accustomed place, hat in hand, while the 
delicious breeze fanned his forehead. 

The conditions were much the same as on that 
night when he had first seen the honest eyes of 
the boy peering at him from under the fold of 
canvas. There was just such a pile of cotton 
bales, the fluffy little bunches sticking to the 
weather-worn tarpaulin, — the same little niches 
where a thin, large-eyed boy might hide ; — just 
such a pile of old boards as had concealed his 
humble treasures. 

Great black ships lay with their bulwarks high 
above the levee, for the river, nearly even with 
its banks, was rushing and swirling along on its 
impetuous way to the Gulf. The steamers puffed 

ft 

and groaned in mid-stream, and now and then 
the shrill whistle of a tug echoed from the 
farther shore. There was the same saffron and 
rose sky, the same black, trailing smoke, the same 
sunset tints on the water ; all appeared the same. 
It seemed as if there had been no change, and 
that he might turn his head at any moment and 
see those great brown eyes looking at him. 

But no; there was not a living being near him. 


204 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Even Patsy had deserted his post. Perhaps he 
was away up the levee searching some new 
arrival. For the old watchman had not renounced 
hope. At the sight of a foreign ship coming 
around the bend, his old heart always gave a 
throb of expectancy, he always felt that perhaps 
the long-expected traveller of the sea had arrived, 
bringing the little waif, or some tidings of him. 

Seeing no one near him. Monsieur Nardi turned 
his attention again towards the river ; when sud- 
denly coming around the bend he saw a great 
white ship, so white and glistening, so majestic 
and stately as she proudly cut her way through 
the swift, strong current, coming nearer and nearer, 
until the steady throbs of her great heart were 
audible above the swirl and rush of the river. 
She was a beautiful image of strength and grace, 
and even of hope and happiness to Monsieur Nardi. 
As he watched her, his eyes kindled and his cheeks 
flushed. 

Ah ! ” he said to himself, a white ship. I 
remember it was a white ship that took Marc 
away. I remember I stood just here and watched 
her disappear around the bend ; only it was the 
morning sun that shone on her. The sky was 


THE WHITE SHIP, 


205 


blue, and the river sparkled like liquid gold. The 
water was not as high nor as swift. The trees 
on the farther shore looked as if they were sten- 
cilled in black against the silvery white clouds. It 
was beautiful. I remember that I was impressed 
with the ’ beauty of the scene, but my heart was 
heavy at the sight of the great white ship taking 
the boy away. Now here comes a white ship, 
returning from a distance, and it may be the very 
one. The boy may be on her. Yes, even now 
he may be looking eagerly toward this very spot. 
Ah ! the white ship returning at sunset may bring 
back what she took away at sunrise.” 

Suddenly there was a slackening in the speed 
of the great ship. She paused, shivered from 
stem to stern, and then rolled from side to side 
as if impatient at being checked on her onward 
career. A muffled, harsh, discordant sound came 
faintly across the water. She was paying out her 
anchor chains. She was anchoring in mid-stream 
for the night. 


XXVI. 


IN DANGER. 


HEN Monsieur Nardi saw that the white 



* * ship had cast anchor below the city, and 
that there was no prospect of her arriving at the 
wharf that night, he felt deeply disappointed. 

Although he could not be positive, yet he felt 
quite sure that it was the same ship that had 
taken Marc away, and the impression that he had 
returned with her grew strong upon him. After 
watching her for some time he still lingered in 
the hope that Patsy might appear, for he knew 
that the old watchman was well acquainted with 
every foreign ship that entered the river, and 
could tell him positively whether it was the one 
on which the boy had sailed. 

But Patsy did not turn up, and darkness was 
rapidly gathering every object into its dense gray 
folds. The great white steamer looked as dim 
and ghostly as a phantom ship. The farther shore 
was no longer visible, all the color had faded out 


206 


IN DANGER. 


207 


of the sky, leaving it a mournful purple, while 
here and there a pale star glistened like a touch 
of silver on a funeral pall. 

The river complained and fretted against its 
barriers in sullen remonstrance, or now and then 
dashed angrily among the massive piles as if im- 
patient to break its bounds and rush unimpeded 
over the fair land. The wind rose suddenly, and 
a chilling mist swept up from the Gulf. Monsieur 
Nardi drew his coat together and turned reluc- 
tantly away. He could learn nothing more until 
morning. 

He had not felt well of late ; he had been troubled 
with insomnia ; and finding himself restless and 
sleepless when he reached home, he decided not 
to retire at his usual hour, but instead, to work 
on a catalogue which he was preparing; so he lit 
his reading-lamp in the sitting-room behind the 
shop and laid out his papers and books on the 
table. 

After working busily for a while he found that 
he needed a certain book of reference, and lighting 
a candle he went into his shop to search for it. 
He placed his candle on a lower shelf which pro- 
jected beyond the upper ones, and set about pulling 


208 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


out a great many books and papers in order to 
find what he was looking for. At last, when he 
had secured it, he returned to his sitting-room in 
a thoughtful, preoccupied mood, and left the burn- 
ing candle where he had placed it. Then he drew 
up his reading-chair, and putting the book, which 
was heavy, on the movable desk in front of him, 
he settled himself comfortably to look up his 
authorities. 

For some time he worked on steadily, then a 
drowsiness began to creep over him. He had slept 
little for several nights, and he was greatly in need 
of nature’s sweet restorer,” so he let his head fall 
back against the comfortable cushion of the chair, 
and in a few moments he was sleeping profoundly. 

It was midnight, and in St. Louis Street every- 
thing was quiet. The neighboring families had all 
retired. There were no lights visible in the win- 
dows, and no sound broke the silence only the 
occasional step of a belated and solitary passer. It 
was a moonless night, and the dense mist filled 
the narrow street. There were watery halos about 
the lamps burning dimly at the corner of each 
square, and all else was enfolded in darkness. 

So desolate and deserted was the street at that 


IN DANGER. 


209 


hour that a passer would have been startled to see 
a small figure sitting in a door-way opposite to 
Monsieur Nardi’s shop. His elbow was on his 
knee, and his chin rested on the palm of his hand. 
His narrow, pale face made a white spot under a 
sailor’s cap, on the ribbon of which faintly gleamed 
a silver anchor. A sailor’s blue shirt and trousers 
completed his costume, which appeared altogether 
too large and too mature for him. He looked a 
delicate, sickly boy of twelve, very neglected, and 
very forlorn. And as he sat there, he seemed to 
have but one object, and that was to stare with 
unnaturally large eyes at the dark and forbidding 
front of Monsieur Nardi’s shop. 

The wooden shutters were closed tightly under 
their iron bars, and even the blinds on the upper 
rooms were shut in ” instead of being bowed,” 
as they usually were. 

He’s sound asleep,” thought the boy. Every 
one’s asleep. It don’t seem as if any one in the 
whole street was awake. There ain’t even a p’lice- 
man about. It’s enough sight lonesomer than 
aboard ship out in the stream. It’s even lone- 
somer than on the levee. I wish I’d stayed aboard 
to-night instead of cornin’ o:ff in the boat. I 


2 10 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


thought I’d find Mr. Patsy on the wharf, an’ I 
knowed he’d be glad to see me, but he wasn’t 
there. Oh, I’ve been gone so long that lots o’ things 
might of happened. Perhaps Mr. Patsy’s dead. 
Perhaps Mr. ’Nidas is dead. Maybe every one’s 
dead. These houses don’t look as if any one was 
alive in ’em. I guess I’ll go back to the wharf 
an’ hunt up my old bed among the cotton bales.” 

Then, with a deep sigh : 

‘‘ It’s all the home I’ve got to go to. I don’t 
s’pose Mr. ’Nidas wants to see me; he don’t w^ant 
to see no thief. If he ain’t found out that I didn’t 
steal that money, he might run me in even now. 
Well, I ain’t goin’ to take no risks. I ain’t goin’ 
to be locked up for nothin’. I’ve got to clear out 
pretty sharp. I mustn’t be caught a-hangin’ ’round 
here. I must look up a vessel bound out early in 
the morn in’ an’ get out the way again, but I’d like 
to see Mr. ’Nidas ; I’d jest like to git a little sight 
of him, an’ he not know it. If I could ’a come 
early, before the shutters was up, I could ’a saw 
him an’ all them books, but I didn’t darst to come 
up early, fear I’d git caught. I wouldn’t mind 
a puttin’ off to sea again, if I could jest git a 
sight of him, an’ Monkey, an’ Toto. An’ Seraph, 


IN DANGER. 


21 I 


too. Yes, Seraph. Me an’ her was chums. She 
liked me. I wonder if she knowed they thought 
I stole. I’d ’a brought her some beads from Cal- 
cutta, only I was afeard she knowed, an’ wouldn’t 
take ’em. Well, I guess I’ll go back to the levee. 
I can’t see no more by stayin’ here.” 

With a discouraged sigh he arose and prepared 
to move on, when suddenly he saw through the 
mist a faint gleam of light that seemed to emerge 
from under the shutters of Monsieur Nardi’s shop. 
As he looked, it spread out in pale, sickly rays, 
growing stronger and brighter each moment 3 then, 
like spears of dull gold, they darted out from every 
tiny crack and opening, — above, below, all around. 
There must be a brilliant light within to emit such 
beams through the small chinks of those closely 
fitting shutters. 

In an instant Marc was across the street with 
his eyes pressed close to the crack from which the 
largest ray proceeded, but he could distinguish noth- 
ing save a bright, glaring, blinding light, as though 
the whole interior was in one blaze. 

It’s fire — fire ! ” he called. His voice seemed 
choked in the mist and darkness, but even while 
he shouted, he was scaling the high fence. He 


212 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


knew, when once within the yard, that he could 
awaken Cressy and alarm the house. 

The blinds of the sitting-room were not closed, 
and as soon as his feet touched the brick pavement 
of the yard he saw the light from the window, 
and through the muslin curtain he also saw Mon- 
sieur Nardi lying back in his chair, — ghastly pale 
and apparently lifeless. The reading-lamp burned 
on the table, the door between the shop and the 
room was slightly ajar, and the baleful glare that 
shone through paled the light of the lamp. A 
dense black smoke filled the room and hung like 
a cloud over Monsieur Nardi’s pallid face, and 
already the odor of the burning books could be 
detected, — that sickening, stifling odor of burnt 
leather and paper. 

With one rapid glance, the boy took in the situa- 
tion. Springing on to the gallery like a little tiger, 
he dashed in a pane of glass and unbolted the win- 
dow. In an instant the horrible smoke met and 
surrounded him, seeming to grasp him as something 
solid and tangible ; it repelled and buffeted him, 
seizing him by the throat with a strangling clutch, 
but he fought against it with fierce strength and 
courage until he reached the side of the unconscious 
old man. 


IN DANGER. 


213 


There was not a moment to lose. A superhuman 
power seemed to be given him. Grasping the inert 
form with fingers which felt like steel, he pulled 
him from his chair and dragged him through the 
window, out of the smoke, out of the very jaws 
of death, on to the gallery, where the cool night air 
swept over him with life-giving freshness. 

Then he fiew to Cressy’s door and aroused 
her with violent blows and cries. She heard him, 
and called in a terrified voice, What has hap- 
pened ? ” 

Had not Marc known the place so intimately, he 
could never have accomplished what he did. He 
was aware that a bucket, always full of water, to 
be used in an emergency, stood under the faucet 
of the cistern. The cistern was close beside the 
gallery, therefore it was only a few steps to the 
burning books. 

Leaving Monsieur Nardi to recover in the fresh 
air, he plunged into the shop with the bucket of 
water, splashing and dashing it against the rows 
of burning books'. They had been smouldering for 
some time before they blazed, which accounted for 
the density of smoke. By the time Marc had re- 
turned with his second bucket of water, Cressy 


214 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


had come to his aid, and together they saturated 
the bookshelves until the flames were subdued. 

Then Marc and Cressy, almost at their last gasp 
from the smoke, threw the doors wide open, and 
a current of cool air soon relieved them from 
suffocation. 

Not until Marc had torn the burning books out 
of the shelves and thoroughly drenched them with 
water, did he go to Monsieur Nardi’s relief. Cressy 
was already administering to his needs. She had 
placed a pillow under his head, and wet his nostrils 
with spirits of ammonia, while she slapped and 
rubbed his limp hands vigorously. 

After a few minutes, his chest rose and fell 
slightly wdth the labored breath, and with a 
shuddering gasp he opened his eyes and looked 
around him wildly ; he was safe, but he was not 
fully conscious. 

It was not until Monsieur Nardi had recovered 
his faculties, and began to understand that some- 
thing unusual had happened, that Marc realized 
how badly he was burned. His scorched hair and 
blistered hands and face showed that he had been 
through a terrible ordeal of fire. 


XXVII. 


A LITTLE HEEO. 

TT is only doing Marc justice to say that at first 
^ he did not know, and perhaps never fully 
understood, how he, by his heroic courage and 
promptitude, had saved not only Monsieur Nardi’s 
life, and probably Cressy’s, but all of the most 
valuable books in the collection of the old hou- 
quiniste. 

The harmless-looking candle that had been left 
in the shop in a moment of preoccupation, had 
burned the edge of the shelf above it, and in this 
way communicated the fire to the under part of 
the row of books, where it must have smouldered 
for some time before Marc saw the blaze through 
tlie chinks of the shutters. Fortunately the fire 
occurred on the opposite side of the shop from 
where stood the glass case that contained the 
antiques, and in fact all of the really valuable 
volumes ; therefore they were injured neither by 
fire, smoke, nor water. 


215 


2i6 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLIN/S TE. 


It was some time before Monsieur Nardi was 
sufficiently recovered to understand the full extent 
of the accident. The first person he recognized was 
Marc, who was anxiously bending over him, and 
confused and bewildered as he was, he showed no 
surprise at seeing him; but he noticed at once how 
terribly the boy was burned, and his distress was 
SQ great that he did not think either of his own 
condition nor of his losses. 

Cressy had escaped with very slight injuries, and 
her first proceeding, when she saw her master 
recovering, was to run to the next yard, awake 
Romeo, and despatch him for a doctor. x\nd it 
was not until Marc’s burns were dressed, and he 
was in bed sleeping quietly Under the effect of 
an opiate, that the poor old gentleman began to 
collect his thoughts, and to wonder wffiere the boy 
came from, and how it happened that he had ap- 
peared on the scene at such an opportune moment. 

Then he remembered the white ship that he had 
watched the preceding evening. I felt that he 
was aboard of her,” he said to Cressy, while tears 
of thankfulness filled his eyes. Le hon Dieu 
sent him to save us. We owe him our lives ; 
nest ce jpas^ ma honne f And we must show 


A LITTLE HERO. 


217 


our gratitude by doing everything to make him 
happy.” 

YeSj monsieur,” said Cressy, humbly. ^^We owe 
him a great deal, and I can never forgive myself 
for my suspicions. You shall see that from this 
day I will be a mother to him.” 

The first visit in the morning was from Seraph, 
who came at a very early hour. She had heard 
from Romeo of Marc’s return, and of the terrible 
accident, and hastened to offer her childish con- 
dolence. Monsieur Nardi took her for a moment 
to Marc’s room : Just for a moment, ma jpetite, 
because the poor boy is suffering and must be 
kept very quiet.” 

When Seraph saw Marc, with his face and hands 
bandaged, and his hair quite gone in places, she 
could scarcely repress her sobs. After a few 
whispered words of sorrow, she pressed a tearful 
kiss on his smarting forehead, and slipped quietly 
out to talk it all over with Uncle ’Nidas, and to 
wonder, as he did, how Marc had happened there 
just at the right moment. 

We must wait, ma chere, until he is better ; then 
he will explain everything. In the meantime we 
must thank le bon Dieu for sending him to save 


2i8 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


my life ; for had he not come when he did I should 
have been buried under the ruins of my burning 
house. The deadly smoke suffocated me while I 
was sleeping; I was unconscious and would have 
known nothing.” 

At this frightful picture Seraph threw her arms 
around her old friend’s neck, and they wept together. 

Long before Marc was well every trace of the 
fire had disappeared from the little shop. The 
burned debris was removed, and new shelves were 
built and filled with new books, all of which the 
insurance company paid for. 

Monsieur Nardi was a man of business and 
always kept his property well insured, therefore 
he suffered no actual loss ; but had he put his 
candle down on the other side of his shop, insur- 
ance could not have recompensed him for the 
treasures that would have been destroyed. Marc’s 
heroism in extinguishing the fire, and all his 
smarting burns, would have been a useless sacrifice, 
as there were a few famous volumes which Monsieur 
Nardi and other distinguished bibliomaniacs de- 
clared to be without a duplicate in any of the 
known collections. 

One day when Marc was sufficiently strong to 


A LITTLE HERO. 


219 


sit lip and talk freely, he told Monsieur Nardi and 
Seraph all of his adventures, and how it happened 
that he was on the spot when the fire broke out. 
Before this, however. Monsieur Nardi had found an 
opportunity to assure the boy that he had never 
really believed him guilty of the act that had 
caused so much unhappiness, and that now he 
knew who the real culprit was, and that Seraph 
knew also ; therefore he must think no more of 
that unpleasant episode. 

^^I’m glad Seraph knowed I didn’t steal,” was 
Marc’s rejoinder, an’ now I wish I’d brought them 
beads from Calcutta ; she would ’a took them, I 
guess.” 

Taken them,” corrected Monsieur Nardi. “ You 
see, mon cTier eiifant, that you must go to school 
as soon as you are well.” 

These are Marc’s little adventures as told by 
himself : 

^^Yes, sir. I’ll begin at that night I run away. 
I didn’t want to go. I never had such a soft place 
as this was, with good togs, plenty to eat, and all 
the story books I could read; but I didn’t darst 
to stay after that. I thought you wouldn’t have 
no respec’, no confi’ence in me, an’ I was riled to 


2 20 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


think you’d s’pect me when you knowed I was 
hones’, when Mr. Patsy told you I was; so that 
mornin’ when the white steamer wanted a cabin 
boy Mr. Patsy ’vised me to ship, ’cause the steward 
said he’d be right good to me, an’ bring me back ; 
an’ Mr. Patsy said you’d have a chance to find 
out while I was gone, and then you’d — well, never 
mind — that’s why I went, and I was in luck for 
a land-lubber. 

I wasn’t off grub a single day, that is, I wasn’t 
seasick. The work wasn’t so hard, an’ the cap’ain 
lent me some books ; an’ the old tars spun lots 
of yarns, ’bout pirates, fly in’ Dutchmen, an’ mare 
maids, an’ ghos’ ships, enufi to make your hair 
Stan’ up ; an’ they let me listen, ’cause they knowed 
me ; all them old tars seen me runnin’ ’bout the 
levee, an’ they called me the levee kid ’stead of 
the wharf rat. It sounded more ’spectable. 

On the voyage out I had a fine time ; but when 
we got in Liverpool I found out the white ship 
wasn’t cornin’ back, so I shipped on a three-master, 
a sailin’-vessel bound for Calcutta. An’ I wasn’t 
no cabin boy, I was the cook’s boy ; there’s where 
the hard knocks come in. I was always in every- 
body’s way, an’ when they wanted me to get out. 


A LITTLE HERO. 


221 


they just banged me over the head or kicked me; 
but I had plenty o’ sand. I didn’t whimper, an’ 
when they saw I wasn’t no land-lubber they left 
off a-teasin’ me. 

On the voyage back I was took with the ship- 
fever, an’ I don’t know how long I was laid up. 
When we got in Liverpool I was so weak I couldn’t 
crawl out o’ my bunk, so they sent me to the 
horsepital ; there I had mighty good livin’, a soft 
bed an’ a nurse ; she was al’ays a-doin’ something 
to make me feel better. An’ sometimes she read 
to me out of a book, all about Daniel an’ the lions, 
an’ Joseph’s coat, an’ a man nailed to a cross, for 
the sins of the world, she said. They were fine 
stories — I liked ’em, an’ I’ll never forget them. 

^^One mornin’ I was well an’ they turned me 
out. The nurse gave me a shillin’, an’ that book 
she read out of. It’s named Holy Bible. I left 
it in my bunk that night I come ashore, and I 
s’pose it’s lost. When I got out the horsepital, I 
had nowhere to go, so I started for the docks, an’ 
the first thing I see layin’ off in the river ready to 
start, was the white steamer. An’ while I was 
lookin’ an’ wishin’ I was aboard of her, down 
come the steward an’ some o’ the men. The launch 


222 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLLNISTE. 


was a-waitin’ for ’em, an’ the minit they see me 
they all hollered, ^ Why, there’s the little levee kid!’ 
So they took me off to the ship, an’ I worked my 
passage home. 

That night when I got ashore in the boat, I 
looked all ’round for Mr. Patsy, but I couldn’t find 
him, so I just run up here to see the old place. I 
’spected to go away again, an’ I wanted — well, I — 
— well — I didn’t see no one it was so late an’ all 
the houses was shut up. So I set down in a door 
opposite to rest, an’ maybe I went to sleep, it was 
so dark an’ quiet. Then all of a sudden I seen the 
light shine out atween the shutters, an’ I run 
across an’ there was the fire. I yelled ^ fire,’ but 
nobody heard. Then I jumped the fence, an’ woke 
Cressy, an’ Cressy an’ me, we put it out. I couldn’t 
’a got it out if it hadn’t been for Cressy’s helpin’. 
That’s how I happened to be on the spot in the 
nick o’ time, ’cause I couldn’t help it, that’s all.” 


XXVIII. 


AT MADAME ST. MAXENT’S. 

XT was some time before the burns on Marc’s 
face and hands were entirely healed, and even 
after they were quite well, the ugly red scars were a 
constant reminder to Monsieur Nardi that the boy 
had risked his life to save him and his property, 
and never a young hero was more praised and 
applauded than he. Patsy the watchman, Cressy, 
and Romeo almost disputed for the honor of serving 
him, and Uncle ’Nidas and Seraph vied with each 
other in their numerous attentions. 

Even Madame St. Maxent visited his little room 
to express her admiration for his courage and 
prompt action in saving the life of her valued 
friend. And when he was able to go out she took 
him in her carriage with Louise and Seraph, to 
drive in the country, or through the quiet, shady 
parks, where they loitered under the great oaks, 
drinking in delicious draughts of fresh, pure air, 
which gave new strength and life to the child’s 

223 


224 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


feeble, shrunken frame, and brought back the color 
to his pallid face. 

Sometimes they drove to the West End, where 
Madame St. Maxent would order a delicious lunch 
of fresh fruits and ices, served in one of the pavil- 
ions overlooking the lovely lake. Then Seraph 
and Marc would wander through the walks among 
the trees and flowers, peeping into the grottoes, 
and hurrying, breathlessly, with much laughter, 
through the intricacies of the maze, from which 
they would emerge as elated as though they had 
accomplished some remarkable feat. After they 
had visited all the shows, they would return home 
by the beautiful shell road, light-hearted and hap- 
pier for their day’s outing. 

To Marc, who had been so cruelly buffeted by 
misfortune, these luxuries and pleasures were like 
glimpses of paradise. And in comparison, the 
memory of those dreadful days on the East India 
ship, the fever, the dark noisome bunk where he 
lay suffering and neglected, were like a horrible 
nightmare, and the contrast made him so grateful 
and happy that it was a pleasure to do him a 
kindness. 

Bring the little hero and Seraph to tea next 


AT MADAME ST. MAXENT'S. 


225 


Saturday/' said Madame St. Maxent to Monsieur 
Nardi, one morning when he was in the shop. 

Maurice wants to see him. Excuse a mother’s 
vanity, but I begin to think that Maurice has a 
fine character ; he admires bravery, and the courage 
of the little fellow delighted him. Yesterday he 
surprised me by saying that he did not wish to go 
to college. His tutor says that he will never dis- 
tinguish himself in the humanities. He really 
does not like to study, yet, he seldom fails in his 
lessons, because he is conscientious and ambitious, 
and he works very hard for what he gets. He 
loves music and art, he has quite a talent for 
drawing ; but his preference is for architecture. He 
tells me he would like to be an architect and 
builder. I do not encourage him in that idea. 
With his fortune there is no need of his going 
into business, and I shall not urge him to take 
a collegiate course unless he wishes to do so. 

.^^What is the use of a boy spending four or 
five years in honest or dishonest efforts to have 
the stamp of a university when he has no apti- 
tude for letters ? If he wishes, he can travel with 
a tutor, and gain his education by studying the 
world and his fellow-creatures. That will broaden 

Q 


226 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINLSTE. 


him, and develop what is best in him. He loves 
Nature, and I wish him to live near to her. A 
boy who understands and loves Nature cannot be 
ignoble. 

‘^Then he has what I consider another fine 
trait of character — he loves animals. And I hold 
that one who loves and is kind to dumb creatures 
must have a good heart. I do not wish to thwart 
or curb any of his reasonable desires; I only wish 
to cultivate what is best in him. I do not mean 
to say that he is perfect, but his faults are all on 
the side of thoughtless generosity. As he grows 
older he will be wiser, and I trust he will make 
a fine man. 

Excuse a mother’s weakness, mon ami. I know 
I talk too much about my son; but you see I am 
like a hen with one chick, and I make as much 
fuss over my one as other mothers would over a 
dozen. Mais^ en fin, cher ami, bring the children 
Saturday. We will have tea in the garden. 
Seraph and Maurice can play a duet, and I will 
show you the improvements I have made in my 
library.” 

Seraph never looked prettier than on that Satur- 
day, when she went to take tea with Madame St. 


AT MADAME ST. M AXE NT'S. 227 

Maxent. Since her mother earned such a nice little 
income, she could afford to dress her child daintily. 

On this occasion she wore the finest and softest 
of white frocks, and a broad white hat shaded 
her abundant yellow hair, which her mother had 
brushed until it shone like threads of gold. Marc, 
in spite of his scars, which were daily becoming 
less noticeable, and his closely cropped hair, looked 
very well, in a neat suit bought for the occasion. 
And Monsieur Nardi felt that he had every reason 
to be proud of his two little jyrotegh. 

When they arrived, Marc carrying Seraph’s 
violin, they were admitted by the black footman, 
whose broad expanse of linen and fine broadcloth 
were only rivalled by the gloss of his skin, and 
conducted very ceremoniously to the beautiful 
garden, where, under a spreading orange tree, was 
arranged the prettiest tea-table the children had 
ever seen. It was covered with a dainty cloth 
embroidered with sweet peas in delicate shades of 
silk, and in the centre, in a large glass bowl, was 
a mound of the same fragrant blossoms. The sun 
peeped through the branches, and glinting on the 
tea-kettle of repousse silver, made the colored glass 
and china sparkle like jewels. 


228 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


Madame St. Maxent wore a rose silk tea-gown. 
Against the dark green of the foliage she looked 
like a lovely Watteau. And Maurice was as hand- 
some as a young lord, in a neglige suit of the 
latest mode, his dark curly head bare, and the 
ends of his blue scarf fluttering in the breeze. 

When they were seated at the table, they were 
a merry little group ; for notwithstanding the un- 
accustomed elegance, the children were quite at 
their ease. They were happy, and youth and 
happiness can never be stiff and awkward. The 
servant brought fruits and ices for the children, 
while Madame St. Maxent and Monsieur Nardi 
sipped their tea and nibbled their biscuit, keeping 
up a charming conversation, simple and light 
enough for all to enjoy. 

After the pleasant meal was over, Maurice took 
Seraph and Marc to show them the stable, his 
horses and dogs, and his other pet animals, of 
which he had an interesting collection. Then they 
wandered about the garden, and over the lawn ; 
they saw the fountains full of gold and silver fish ; 
Seraph and Marc went into ecstasies over some 
very funny Japanese fish, with iridescent scales, 
and two curious wiggling tails. And there were 


AT MADAME ST. MAX ENT'S. 


229 


the statues among the foliage, and the strange 
beautiful flowers to be duly admired, and after 
that the violins were brought out, and Maurice 
and Seraph, with their young heads together, 
looked over the music they were to play, and then 
turned, and twisted, and tuned their respective 
instruments into accord for the duet. 

While the children were interesting and amus- 
ing themselves under the chaperonage of Maurice, 
Madame St. Maxent and Monsieur Nardi were in- 
specting the improvements in the library, engaged 
in a very learned, and no doubt instructive, dis- 
cussion of their favorite subject, — old books, tou- 
jour s old books. 

Presently they came out to their seats under the 
orange tree. The music-stands were put in place, 
the music arranged, and Seraph and Maurice played 
one of Schumann’s charming duets. And while 
they played, the rays of the setting sun crept 
across the lawn and lingered where the petals of 
the orange flowers fell on the grass, as white and 
noiseless as flakes of snow. 

A little breeze just touched the sweet olive and 
myrtle, swinging the blossoms like perfumed cen- 
sers, while a mocking-bird hanging on the twig of 


230 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

a red-bud tree, twittered faintly and sweetly until 
the last notes of the duet died away on the soft 
air, and then, whether intoxicated with the music, 
or in a spirit of rivalry, it poured out strain after 
strain of the most delicious melody, spreading its 
wings, and fluttering from branch to branch while 
it sang on deliriously and wildly, until the sun 
had fairly set, the happy children had turned their 
faces homeward, and darkness and silence had 
settled down on Madame St. Maxent’s beautiful 
garden. 


XXIX. 


THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 

"A yrONSIEUR NARDI had placed Marc at a 
small private school on Conti Street, where 
he studied so well and made such excellent prog- 
ress, that the teacher, who was a friend of the old 
bookseller, often made a favorable report. 

“ The boy drinks in knowledge as a dry plant 
drinks in rain,” he said. “ He loves to study, and 
he has a retentive memory ; he will make rapid 
strides, and will soon be of great assistance to you. 
The most serious difficulty I have is in correcting 
his faults of speech. It is not easy to overcome 
the habit of a lifetime.” 

Be patient with the child, mon ami,'' said 
Monsieur Nardi gently. ^‘Remember that he has 
never been taught. He has grown up as neg- 
lected as a weed springing by the road side. We 
cannot expect him to blossom at once into a rare 
flower. I am sure he has the gifts and graces of 
an uncommonly fine character. Have patience, and 
we shall see. We shall see.” 


231 


232 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINLSTE, 

While Marc was fully occupied with his studies, 
and wliile Seraph was striving after greater excel- 
lence in her music, poor little Madge seemed to be 
deteriorating. She did not progress in the fashion- 
able school as her mother hoped she would do; 
and she had come to a decided standstill in her 
German, while her piano lessons were so distaste- 
ful that she resorted to all sorts of subterfuges 
to avoid them. Professor Vortman had long since 
told Cousin Franz that it was wasting time and 
money, that she had no music in her, and would 
never get beyond mediocrity. The only progress 
she made, if one dare call it progress, was in her 
love for fine clothes. The girls in her school 
dressed very fashionably, and she felt that she 
ought to do as they did. 

One day she came to visit Seraph, and the two 
little maids went out to the seat under the ole- 
ander tree for a confidential chat. 

Mamma is awfully severe and so stingy,” said 
Madge complainingly. 

^^But you go to a fashionable school, and that 
costs a great deal of money,” returned Seraph. 

My mamma can’t afford to send me to school. I 
have to study with her, and then I read some 


THE EE VOLT OF MADGE. 


233 


with Uncle ’Nidas and Marc. You have a great 
deal more than I do, Madge; you have a great 
many new frocks.” 

''Yes, woollen and gingham,” continued Madge 
discontentedly ; " but I want a silk frock. All 
the girls in my class wear silk frocks on Sunday, 
and some wear them to school.” 

" Mamma does not allow me to wear a silk frock 
either,” said Seraph, " and I don’t mind it. I 
really don’t want one.” 

" You would if you went to my school,” replied 
Madge decidedly. " It’s very unkind of mamma 
not to let me have one.” 

" But, Madge, don’t you think your mamma 
knows best what you should wear?” asked Seraph 
persuasively. 

" No, I don’t ! Mamma isn’t fashionable. She 
doesn’t know how fashionable people dress,” con- 
tinued Madge, in a disrespectful tone ; " besides, I 
have money of my own. My papa left me money, 
and mamma has no right to dress me like a child 
in an orphan asylum. The girls laugh at me, and 
say I look like one of the children of the house 
of the Good Shepherd.” 

" Oh, Madge, they must be very rude girls to 


234 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE, 


say that. I should not mind them/’ said Seraph, 
flushing. ^‘I’m sure you always look neat and 
nice.” 

But there’s no style in just looking neat. I 
want flowers and feathers in my hats. I’m tired 
of only ribbon, and I mean to have a change,” 
said Madge, with calm decision. 

Why, what do you intend to do, Madge ? ” 
asked Seraph, in a surprised tone. 

You know I told you my secret about the 
dolls’ hats, and you never told any one, did you ? ” 

No,” said Seraph, I never did.” 

^^Well, now I’ll tell you another, because I can 
trust you. I’ve made up my mind what to do. 
If mamma doesn’t buy me a pink and white checked 
silk frock, and a Leghorn hat with a wreath of 
pink roses, I mean to leave home and learn the 
millinery trade.” 

Oh, Madge ! ” exclaimed Seraph horrified. 

“ Why, of course I shall. Didn’t I tell you I 
intended to have a shop on Eue Boyale. I haven’t 
changed my mind,” continued Madge, quietly but 
firmly; ‘^and before I go into business I must learn 
the trade. Then I shall have the money papa 
left me, and open a shop.” 


THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 


235 


But, Madge, you are too young. No one could 
go into business at your age,” said Seraph de- 
cidedly. 

^‘I’m nearly thirteen, and I’ve got to learn my 
trade first. You know that modiste on Rue Royale; 
the largest, prettiest shop is the one I mean. Well, 
she takes girls no older than I am and teaches 
them the trade. I’ve inquired; I know all about 
it.” 

Oh, Madge, don’t do it. I wouldn’t if I were 
you,” pleaded Seraph. 

There, Seraph ! that’s just like a girl. Didn’t 
you promise to go into the business with me ? 
Weren’t we to have a shop together? and now 
you’re going back on your word ! ” exclaimed 
Madge hotly. 

But that was before I got back my violin,” 
replied Seraph, flushing and confused. I can’t 
go with you now ; I don’t want a shop now.” 

Because you’ve got what you 'want. If I 
could get what I want, I wouldn’t have a shop 
either. Why, mamma and papa are even threaten- 
ing to take me away from Madame Claire’s school. 
I want to learn china painting. No, I want to 
do Kensington. No, I want to take Italian. No, 


236 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

I want a pink silk frock and a white hat with 
roses. No, no, no. I’m tired to death of lectures, 
German, and darning; and. Seraph, I hate the 
piano wmrse than you do.” 

Oh dear, Madge, I wish you wouldn’t feel so. 
I don’t know how to help you,” said Seraph, her 
eyes filling with tears; “I wish you wouldn’t leave 
home, I wish you wouldn’t be a modiste'" 

^^Well, you’ll see,” said Madge oracularly. ^Mf 
they are so severe with me, I shall have to do 
something. I can’t live and breathe by rule any 
longer. If you could hear the girls in my class 
tell of the fun the^y have at home. Paula Lacostes’ 
mamma gave her a real party, and they had supper 
at ten, and Marie Doize gave a lunch her birthday, 
just like a grown-up luncheon. They had favors, 
and everything, and Marie wore a white silk frock 
that her mamma ordered from Hortense. Now, did 
I ever have a party ? Did I ever have a luncheon ? 
And our house is just horrid.” 

“ Oh, Madge, such a fine large house, how can 
you say that ? ” cried Seraph, in astonishment. 

Yes, it’s large enough, and as dreary as a con- 
vent. There isn’t a pretty thing in it, and the 
garden is like a cemetery with those shell walks 


THE EE VOL T OF MADGE. 


237 


and stiff clipped trees. Oh, I hate it ! I feel as 
though I was in prison. I want some freedom, 
and I want to see something pretty.” 

Seraph was silenced by such strong arguments, 
but she was not convinced that the step Madge 
contemplated taking was at all right. Yet she 
felt dimly that there was fault somewhere, that 
some one was to blame for the barrenness of the 
child's life. She had always been a patient, docile 
little creature. What had so changed her? What 
had caused the worm to turn ? 

Seraph thought a great deal about Madge for 
several days after the visit ; but as the communica- 
tion was a secret of the most inviolable character, 
she could not speak of her fears and anxieties to 
her mother. Young as she was, she understood 
something of human nature, and she felt that 
Madge was a quietly stubborn little person, who, 
when once she made up her mind to do a thing, 
would persevere in spite of consequences. 

Therefore Seraph was not surprised when, one 
morning. Cousin Franz entered with a very dis- 
turbed manner, and a face more serious than 
usual, and before they had fairly exchanged the 
accustomed greetings, exclaimed excitedly, Louise, 


238 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Seraph, have you seen Madge ? Has she been here 
this morning?” 

Of course Madame Blumenthal was greatly 
shocked and surprised when she heard what had 
happened, but Seraph surmised what was coming, 
and she kept her own counsel. 

Madge has been very — very — I might say re- 
fractory,” began Cousin Franz hesitatingly. For 
some time she has seemed to be inclined to revolt 
against our authority, but the serious trouble 
began when we removed her, a few days ago, 
from Madame Claire’s school. I never approved of 
her being sent there. It was entirely her mother’s 
idea. All our trouble dates from that. The in- 
fluence was very harmful ; she received impressions 
of life totally at variance with my teaching. 

Yesterday her mother refused to purchase her 
certain unbecoming articles of dress, and she was 
rebellious and disrespectful, and I might say she 
revolted against her mother’s authority, and threat- 
ened to leave home. Of course we thought this 
idle talk until this morning, when she did not ap- 
pear at breakfast. Then we made inquiries and 
learned that she had left the house at an early 
hour. 


THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 


239 


This letter was found pinned on her pillow.” 
And Cousin Franz laid a crumpled sheet of paper 
before Louise, who smiled as she read it, in spite 
of the gravity of the occasion. 

Dear Mamma, — If I can’t go to Madame Clair’s school, and 
if I can’t have that pink chek silk and that wite legorn hat, I 
am goin away furever. You needn’t surch for me ; from this 
time I am berried to you just as if I was dead and in my graiv. 
I am goin to take the money in my mishunery box, and my new 
shoes. Your dutiful daughter, 


Madge. 


XXX. 


FOUND, 


OU see how difficult it is for me to act in 



this matter,” said Cousin Franz, after 
Louise had read Madge’s letter, ^^for the reason 
that I do not wish to give publicity to a child’s 
foolish esca'pade. Her mother thought that she 
might have come to you, or that she possibly said 
something to Seraph, during her last visit, that 
would give us some idea as to her whereabouts.” 

Seraph did not mention to me that Madge 
spoke of leaving home. I think if she had, my 
child would have told me,” and Louise looked in- 
quiringly at Seraph, who appeared to be greatly 
distressed and confused. 

Madge was very unhappy. She said her 
mamma was severe and — and — unkind,” replied 
Seraph evasively ; but I can’t repeat what she 
told me. It is a secret, and I promised not to 


tell. 


But you must tell. If you know anything, you 


240 


FOUND, 


241 


must tell. It is of the greatest importance/’ in- 
sisted Cousin Franz. 

Please don’t say that I must tell, when I prom- 
ised not to,” pleaded Seraph. 

Ma cJiere, don’t you see what a very serious 
thing it is for Madge to leave her home in this 
way. If you know anything, I beg of you to tell 
Cousin Franz,” urged Madame Blumenthal, some- 
what annoyed at Seraph’s reticence. 

But, mamma dear, how can I when I promised 
not to tell ? I promised. It is a secret between 
Madge and me, and if I told it, she would never 
trust me again.” 

Louise gave Cousin Franz a discouraged look, and 
then she said, Very well, my child, since you think 
it so important to keep your word, can’t you think 
of some way to help us find Madge? You surely 
don’t want the poor child disgraced ; you don’t want 
her advertised in the journals. You won’t oblige 
us to employ the police to search for her if you can 
do anything.” 

Seraph remained silent for some moments. She 
seemed to be thinking deeply. Her soft little fore- 
head was drawn in a frown, and her lips were firmly 
pressed together. At length she said cautiously: 


242 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Mamma; perhaps I can find Madge ; if Cousin 
Franz will wait, I may be able to find her and 
fetch her home.” 

But her mother is so distressed,” said Cousin 
Franz uneasily, she will not be willing to wait ; 
she will insist on immediate action.” 

^Mt won’t be long,” replied Seraph. ‘Mf I can’t 
find her, I will come directly and tell you. But if 
I do find her and fetch her home, won’t you prom- 
ise, dear Cousin Franz, not to be severe with her ? 
Won’t you forgive her, and won’t you ask Cousin 
Rachel not to punish her ? ” 

Cousin Franz looked very severe and unyielding, 
but at length he said reluctantly : I will leave 

her entirely to her mother. I will trust her 
mother to deal justly with her. Leniency is not 
always kindness. However, I am convinced that 
I have no influence over Madge. I am mistaken 
in her character ; she probably inherits her perverse 
disposition from her father. If she were my own 
child, I could cope with her ; as it is, in future I 
shall leave her entirely to her mother. Now I 
shall return home and wait to hear from Seraph 
before I take any other step toward finding the 
undutiful, misguided child.” 


FOUND. 


243 


Then with a hurried good morning, he went 
away as abruptly as he came, leaving Seraph to 
prepare for her quest. 

I shall ask Uncle ’Nidas to go with me, mamma,' 
so you need not be anxious, and I shall find Madge 
and bring her to you. She will be very unhappy, 
and you will be sweet to her, won’t you, cliere 
petite mamanf ” said Seraph, as she kissed her 
mother and hurried away, feeling intensely the im- 
portance of her mission. 

Dear me!” murmured Louise when she was 
alone. Who would have thought that quiet, de- 
mure little thing had so much self-will and inde- 
pendence. I wish she had not made a confidant 
of Seraph. I don’t like to have my child mixed 
up with such an affair.” 

A little later in the day Monsieur Nardi and 
Seraph were standing before the show window of 
a fashionable modiste on Royal Street. They were 
discussing the best means of procedure. 

“ I think she is here, in the workroom of this 
shop,” said Seraph, trying to peer between the hats 
and bonnets, set pertly on wire frames, before the 
glass. 

^^But, ma cAere, why do you think she is here?” 


244 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


asked Monsieur Nardi, anxious to know if there 
was any foundation for such a supposition. 

Seraph was still guarding the sacred secret with 
all her little moral strength, and not even Uncle 
’Nidas could wrest it from her. Therefore, with 
a non-committal smile, her eyes still searching the 
rear of the shop, she replied, I can’t tell 
but I think she is here. There’s a workroom 
back of the shop, and when they pass in and out, 
I can get a glimpse of a long table, , with a great 
many young girls on each side of it ; but I don’t 
see Madge. Still, I think she’s there.” 

‘^Well, ma cliere, let us go in and ask; that is 
the best way to settle it,” said Monsieur Nardi, 
turning toward the door ; and Seraph followed, 
her heart-beats audible to her own ears. It was 
a moment of intense excitement. If Madge should 
not be in that workroom ! Where could she be ? 
The poor child dared not think of the alterna- 
tive. 

As they entered, a pleasant-faced, overdressed 
woman came forward, bowing and smiling. ‘‘Mon- 
sieur et mademoiselle, a votre service'' 

“Herd hien, madame," returned Monsieur Nardi, 
also bowing and smiling. ‘‘Will you kindly tell 





^ r- - 

fc'- 

IL' 


“as they entered, a pleasant-faced, well-dressed woman came 

FORWARD, BOWING, SMILING.” 




FOUND: 


245 


me if you engaged a young girl this morning, by 
the name of Madge ? ” 

I do not know, monsieur. My forewoman 
engages the girls, but I think one came in this 
morning who gave the name of Maggie. I will 
inquire.” And she touched a silver bell that stood 
on a table covered with delicious bits of silk, rib- 
bons, and flowers, as harmoniously blended as 
though they were growing in a garden. 

When the door into the workroom was about 
to open. Seraph craned her neck so as to com- 
mand a good view of the interior; but, to her 
astonishment, it was Madge herself who opened 
the door, but Madge so changed and transformed, 
that one less well acquainted with her than was 
Seraph would scarcely have recognized her. 

The most important change was in the fashion 
of dressing her hair. She had drawn her fawn- 
colored locks forward, and cut them off in a thick 
fringe close to her eyebrows ; then her glossy braid 
was curled and fluffed, a Anger or more below 
the red ribbon that tied it, leaving a thick tuft 
at the end, after the style of a clipped poodle ; 
and she certainly must have made heavy inroads 
on her mishunery box,” in order to purchase the 


246 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

red ribbons that adorned her drab little person. 
It was tied about her neck and hung in long ends 
behind. It was tied about her waist and hung 
in long ends in front. In fact, it was obvious 
that Madge had gratified her inordinate taste for 
red ribbons to its fullest extent. 

But just at first Seraph did not notice the eccen- 
tricities of Madge’s dress, for her eyes were fixed 
on the troubled, tear-stained face. The embryo 
modiste had evidently been handling a great many 
dusty articles, and using her fingers, instead of her 
handkerchief, to wipe away the too obtrusive signs 
of sorrow, for a smudgy circle under each eye gave 
her usually stolid face a very pathetic expression. 

Before she was half through the opening of the 
door she saw Seraph and Monsieur Nardi. A flood 
of crimson swept from brow to chin, and she was 
about to shrink back, panting and trembling like 
a hunted hare, when Seraph darted forward and 
laid hold of her with a vigorous clutch. 

‘‘ Oh, Madge, Madge ! I’m so glad to find you. 
Come with me, come home ! ” she cried entreatingly. 

Then ensued a little struggle, Madge trying to 
retreat into the workroom, and Seraph clinging to 
her with all her might. 


FOUND. 


247 


don’t want to go, and I shan’t,” protested 
Madge, the tears starting in a torrent. 

But you must, you shall,” insisted Seraph, look- 
ing appealingly at Monsieur Nardi, who stepped 
forward, smiling serenely, but saying calmly and 
decidedly, — 

Come, come, my dear child ; this is foolish. Get 
your hat, like a good girl, and I will explain to 
Madame. I am sure she will excuse you and allow 
you to go with us.” 

Then Monsieur Nardi, in a few polite and pleasant 
words, informed the modiste that her little appren- 
tice had left her home without the permission or 
knowledge of her mother, who was highly respect- 
able and quite rich, and that he and her little 
cousin had come to fetch her back. 

Old, monsieur, I understand; a self-willed 
little thing,” said the modiste, smiling and bowing 
them out, as pleasantly and politely as though they 
had bought a dozen hats. 

Seraph glanced pityingly at Madge, who followed 
them reluctantly, looking very forlorn in her un- 
accustomed finery, crowned by a hat, in which, in 
the first moment of her freedom, she had trium- 
phantly placed a large bunch of cheap red roses. 


XXXI. 


IN THE FOLD. 


ERAPH thought it judicious, before she returned 



the wandering lamb to the fold, to freshen 
her up a little and make her more presentable. 
Therefore she insisted on taking the little rebel to 
Louise, whose sweetness and kindness, she knew, 
would have a softening effect, and tend to subdue 
the pride and self-will of the penitent more effect- 
ually than severity or even maternal authority. 

Madge lagged behind, still affecting a stubborn 
resistance toward those who desired to return her 
to the fold. She was a soiled, tired, whimpering 
lamb, and heartily glad to be saved in spite of 
herself; yet she thought she would be lacking in 
dignity if she yielded too easily and acknowledged 
herself conquered in her little battle for freedom. 
However, her small comedy of opposition was very 
transparent, and even Seraph felt that Madge did 
not mean it when she protested that she did not 
wish to return home, that she had left home for- 


IN THE FOLD. 


249 


ever, and if they insisted on taking her back, she 
would go where they would never find her. 

To all of which Monsieur Nardi replied quietly, 
jpas qa, ma chere, pas qa. You don’t mean 
what you are saying, and you don’t know what 
you are doing.” 

When they reached Madame Blumenthal’s door. 
Seraph could scarcely persuade Madge to enter, for 
suddenly she seemed overwhelmed with shame, and 
hung back in the greatest confusion. 

‘•Come in, dear child, come to me; I want to 
talk to you,” called Louise, in her sweet, persuasive 
tones. “ Come to me just as Seraph does when 
she is unhappy.” And the little invalid held out 
her arms. 

Madge could not resist that invitation of heart- 
felt tenderness. With another burst of tears, and 
a great sob, she threw herself beside Madame Blu- 
menthal, and hiding her swollen, smudgy little face 
in her grimy hands, she confessed herself subdued, 
if not conquered, and heartily sick of the freedom 
she had longed for. 

“ And now, my dear child,” said Louise, after she 
had soothed and petted the little penitent until 
she was somewhat composed, “ your mother is very 


250 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


anxious and unhappy, and you must go to her as 
soon as possible. She loves you. Never doubt her 
love again, and she will take you into her heart 
and forgive you freely. Be patient and docile, 
even if you are crossed and thwarted, and some 
day you will learn, as I have, that what seems a 
cruelty is often a blessing in disguise. Cheer up, 
poor little heart ; go to your parents in a spirit of 
submission and love, and all will be well. Now, 
dear, bathe your face and eyes, and won’t you, 
clierle, to please me, take off those red ribbons, and 
that bunch of roses from your hat. You are a 
good, modest little girl, and T am sure 3^ou don’t 
wish to look common and vulgar. You are not 
old enough to wear such gaudy colors. And let 
me trim your fringe a little, to show your fore- 
head, and this rough tangle at the end of your 
braid is very untidy. There ! now you look like a 
little lady.” 

Madge suffered herself to be despoiled without 
a murmur, and so contrite was she that she even 
regretted having sacrificed her front hair to her 
spirit of insubordination; but her regrets in that 
direction were useless. She could not restore her 
fawn-colored locks to their original condition. But 


IN THE FOLD. 


251 


Louise reassured her by telling her that the fringe 
was pretty and modest when cut a proper length, 
and she was sure that Madame Arnet would not 
object to it. 

Ever since she could remember, Madge had 
longed for a fringe ; therefore she felt that she had 
gained one small victory, even if the skirmish 
had been disastrous. 

Returning to the fold was a terrible ordeal for 
the little penitent ; but it had to be done before 
she could expect pardon and peace. Strengthened 
by Louise’s sensible advice, and encouraged by 
Seraph’s confidence in Cousin Franz’s promise, 
Madge turned her face homeward, a sadder and a 
wiser child. She would not allow Seraph to ac- 
company her. She felt that the meeting and 
reconciliation would be more effective without 
spectators. 

Before she reached the gate of her home, she 
saw her mother pacing the front gallery restlessly, 
stopping, now and then, to look into the street 
with an air of anxious expectancy. 

Madge never could remember just what took 
place ; but before the gate was fairly closed behind 
her, she was clasped in her mother’s arms, and 


252 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

they were crying together. Then her papa came 
forward and kissed her gravely, but kindly, and 
very little was said ; but the penitent child felt 
the full blessing of pardon and reconciliation. 

That evening, when Madge was again in her own 
little white room, her mother came in softly, and 
almost timidly, and after assisting in the prepara- 
tions for night, a thing she had not done since the 
child was old enough to unbutton her own frocks, 
she said with a little tremor in her voice, Per- 
haps I have been too severe, perhaps I have dressed 
you too plain ; but you know a minister’s wife 
should set a good example to her husband’s con- 
gregation. However, my dear, I have thought it 
over, and I have decided to buy you a new frock 
and a Leghorn hat, but I think blue would be 
more becoming than pink.” 

Perhaps so, mamma ; just as you like,” was 
Madge’s humble reply. 

About that time the feminine portion of Mr. 
Arnet’s congregation began to remark on the 
improved appearance of the minister’s wife and 
daughter. Louise, who felt that she might do a 
little missionary work, by introducing the religion 
of beauty into a heart ignorant of its refining 


IN THE FOLD. 


253 


influence, presented Cousin Kachel with one of the 
charming flower-bonnets which her little Angers 
fashioned so exquisitely, and when Madame Arnet 
placed the dainty wreath of violets on her pale 
brown hair, she looked ten years younger, and so 
well that Madge exclaimed admiringly : 

Oh, mamma ! how pretty you look ! It suits 
you perfectly. Now you must have a gown of 
violet silk and black lace to wear with it.” 

Madame Arnet readily accepted the suggestion. 
Her eyes were open at last to the dignity and 
charm of a suitable and becoming toilet, and even 
the austere Franz was forced to admit that, when 
one could afford it, there were many advantages 
in being well dressed. 

Lying dormant in many characters is a spark 
of love for the beautiful, which, when once fanned 
to a flame, burns brighter from having been so 
long repressed. This seemed to be the case with 
Madame Arnet. She not only dressed more be- 
comingly and more fashionably, but she made her 
house more attractive by adding many little orna- 
ments and refinements which she had always con- 
sidered frivolous and useless ; and Madge was 
allowed to do china painting, and to dabble in 


254 


SEI^APH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


water colors to her heart’s content. After a while 
even the objectionable music and German, when 
it was no longer compulsory, became a pleasure ; 
and Professor Vortman was heard to declare that 
his pupil had a fair chance of getting beyond 
mediocrity. 

Every day the friendship between Madge and 
Seraph grew stronger and more tender. Seraph 
had proved a trustworthy friend in the hour of 
adversity. She had kept the secret, and managed 
the reconciliation so well that Madge could never 
forget to be grateful. And now life was so much 
sweeter and brighter to the child since the religions 
of beauty and duty were combined. 


XXXII. 


MAURICE AND SHYLOCK. 


IHE three years of Seraph’s training with Pro- 



lessor Vortinan were nearly over, and already 
he was discussing the necessity of foreign study 
for the little violiniste. 

^^It is absolutely necessary,” he would say in 
his strong, urgent voice. She must have another 
master; she must study in a foreign school.” 

To the frail little mother, who was satisfied 
with her present condition, but could see no pros- 
pect of improving it, foreign study for her child 
seemed simply an impossibility. Through Madame 
St. Maxent’s influence, she had built up an excel- 
lent business. Still, by constant labor, often as- 
sisted by Seraph, she could earn only enough for 
their daily needs. How, then, could she give up 
her work, her only means of subsistence, and live 
in Paris with her child ? Besides, her crippled con- 
dition made travelling a serious difficulty. 

Seraph was growing more beautiful every day, 


25s 


256 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

and there was no doubt that she had rare musical 
talent. The few who had heard her play felt it. 
Madame St. Maxent and Maurice were enthusiastic 
about her ; and already her fame had gone abroad, 
for they had spoken of her to their friends as a 
prodigy, and at any time a large audience would 
have been delighted to listen to her ; but Professor 
Yortman would not hear of her playing in public 
until she had completed her studies. 

Monsieur Nardi and Cousin Franz often dis- 
cussed the child’s future. 

Certainly, she must go to Paris,” the old book- 
seller would say ; and it seemed to Cousin Franz 
as impossible as if he had said, Certainly, she 
must make a trip to the moon.” 

But it would cost a great deal ; she could not 
go without her mother, and Louise’s lameness 
would make it still more expensive.” 

Yes, it would cost more, certainly,” replied 
Monsieur Nardi reflectively ; but then there is 
the chance of Madame Blumenthal being cured. 
I feel confident that the celebrated Doctor Duplan 
could cure her lameness.” 

It is true, she might be cured if she were 
there, but there is no chance of her going. Poor 


MAURICE AND SHYLOCK. 


257 


little Louise ! ’’ and Cousin Franz sighed. “ I wish 
I had the money to send her, but, unfortunately, 
I am poor.” 

Then Monsieur Nardi would rub his forehead 
reflectively, and say in a preoccupied tone, “ Yes, 
yes, they must go. I don’t see clearly how it is 
to be accomplished, but they must go. Seraph’s 
future depends on it. Two years or more in the 
Paris conservatoire, and then what a brilliant future 
for the cher petit ange. Yes, it must be arranged. 
She must go.” 

One day Maurice St. Maxent made a tour of all 
the music shops, bric-a-brac shops, and pawn shops, 
in New Orleans. He wished to find a certain vio- 
lin that he had heard of, and that he had reason 
to believe was in one of the above places. 

The morning before he and Seraph had prac- 
tised together for some time, under the instruction 
of Professor Yortman. Their duets were charming 
because of the perfect sympathy between them. 
They both loved the violin, and when they played, 
it seemed as if one soul and one hand controlled 
the instruments. Since Maurice had known Ser- 
aph he had grown more ambitious to excel. The 
child’s constant and patient study was a reproof 


258 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

to him ; and he often thought, Ah, if I had her 
touch, her feeling, I might become a second 
Joachim. As it is, I can only try to follow her 
lead, to emulate her industry and perseverance.” 

On this occasion. Seraph spoke for the first time 
to Maurice of her father’s violin, the wonderful del 
Gesu. 

A genuine del Gesu ! ” cried Maurice, in aston- 
ishment. Why, I did not think there was one in 
this city.” 

‘‘Yes, my papa had one. He came from a 
family of musicians, and it had been for a long 
time in the family. I never shall play as well on 
any other violin,” she said sadly. 

“Why, what became of it?” asked Maurice, 
greatly interested. 

“ It was sold,” returned Seraph briefly. 

“ And don’t you know who bought it ? ” 

“ No, Cousin Franz did not tell me. I think I 
didn’t care to know, I was so unhappy at losing 
it.” 

“ I don’t wonder,” said Maurice, with ready sym- 
pathy. “ One doesn’t come across a del Gesii 
every day. It was horrible to sell it. Mr. Arnet 
could not have known its value.” 


MAURICE AND SHY LOCK. 


259 


“ Oh, yes, he knew that it was worth a great 
deal, but it was a necessity,” returned Seraph, 
her cheeks flushing hotly. 

Maurice said no more, but he determined to find 
the purchaser of the del Oesu. First, he called on 
Cousin Franz and learned the name of the dealer 
who had bought it. Then he went to his estab- 
lishment, but the member of the firm who had 
negotiated the sale with Cousin Franz was at that 
time in Europe, and there was no one who could 
give him any precise information. 

Plowever, as he was about leaving the shop, 
somewhat disappointed at his failure to learn the 
name of the purchaser, a young clerk entered who 
remembered the transaction. His employer had 
sold the violin to a French violinist named Felix, 
who had formerly played with Carl Blumenthal, 
and who knew the value of the instrument. This 
artist had bought it as a speculation, intending to 
take it abroad, where such a rare instrument would 
command a high price. Whether he had done so 
the clerk could not say, as after they sold the 
violin they heard no more about it. 

Maurice St. Maxent was not a boy to be easily 
discouraged, so he immediately hunted up the 


26 o 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


conducteur of the orchestra in which the violinist 
had played, who remembered Felix perfectly, but 
he had left New Orleans two years before under 
unpleasant circumstances. He had always been a 
dissipated, reckless fellow, who had wasted his 
money and made debts right and left. He knew 
Felix had bought Carl Blumenthal’s violin, because 
he believed it to be a Guarnieri ; but for that 
matter he, the leader of the orchestra, thought one 
good violin as valuable as another. Therefore, he 
considered that egarre Felix insane to put all he 
could get hold of in that old instrument. 

There had been a great deal of talk about it at 
the time. He had been obliged to discharge the 
violinist, and after that had seen nothing of him ; 
but he had heard that when Felix got into trouble 
he had sold or pledged the violin. To whom or 
where he could not say ; however, he thought it 
likely he had pledged it instead of selling it, as 
he would be unwilling to give up all claim to so 
valuable an instrument after he had made such 
an effort to get possession of it. 

I shouldn’t wonder, my young friend,” added 
the conducteur, that if you search the pawn shops 
down town, you’ll come across it. Felix has never 


MAURICE AND SHY LOCK. 


261 


returned since he left, and it’s likely to be" just 
where he placed it. If it is, you’ll get it for 
what they loaned on it; and it won’t be much, 
for those people don’t appreciate things greatly be- 
yond their intrinsic value.” 

Maurice thanked the conducteur for his valuable 
information, and went away determined to continue 
his search. After spending the best part of the 
day going from one obscure place to another, he 
came upon a dingy pawn shop on Bourbon Street, 
kept by an old Shylock who looked as if he had 
stepped out of the Middle Ages. It was not a 
promising place to look for anything of value, but 
Maurice remembered that it is the unexpected 
which oftenest happens, so he entered, not without 
some qualms, so dingy and dark was the place, 
and so sinister was the appearance of its occupant, 
who, however, came forward fawning servility. 

Gute tay, my vriend. Vhat can I do vor you ? ” 

Good day, monsieur,” said Maurice politely, while 
he glanced about in a cursory sort of way. I am 
interested in curios, antiques; I was passing and I 
just looked in to see what you have.” 

‘^Much, much, my vriend ; all here is curio, all 
here is antique, and faluable, faluable,” he replied, 


262 


SEUAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


with a comprehensive sweep of the hand, and a 
voracious cunning in his bead-like eyes. 

Yes, I see,” said Maurice, glancing from one 
thing to another with an amateurish air, and 
occasionally pricing a bit of trash, to which he 
would not give house room. 

The old Jew, judging from the boy’s dress that 
he was rich, and thinking that he had an easy 
victim in one so young and inexperienced, plied 
him with the few articles of value which he pos- 
sessed, urging and pleading in the most vehe- 
ment way that he would buy something of his 
‘^faluable collection, for the lofe of heafen, as he 
was poor, fery poor.” 

After suffici^tly exciting the old man’s cupidity 
by displaying a fat pocket-book, which he took out 
for the apparent purpose of consulting a memoran- 
dum, Maurice turned toward the door, saying care- 
lessly, Yes, monsieur, you have some good things, 
but nothing I care to buy to-day. I will call 
again.” 

But before the boy could reach the door, the Jew 
was at his side, holding out his claw-like hands 
imploringly. “ My vriend, my gute young vriend, 
you hafe not seen all my antiques. I hafe yet 


MAURICE AND SHY LOCK 




to show you von fery rare fiolin. Vill you vait 
vhile I show it to you?” 

Maurice almost shuddered at the clutching fingers ; 
he was near the door and he felt a strong desire to 
escape, but at the mention of the violin, he turned 
back, saying, with well-assumed indifference, I am 
afraid it is not one I should care for, but I don’t 
mind looking at it.” 

The old man ran behind the counter, still keeping 
his eyes on the boy, as if he feared he might give 
him the slip, and get out before he could prevent 
it. Taking a big bunch of keys from the pocket 
of the old dressing-gown he wore, he proceeded to 
unlock a heavy chest, from which, after rummaging 
some minutes, he drew out an old violin and laid 
it before the boy. 

On the under part of the neck of the instru- 
ment was a small silver plate, worn thin with age, 
and on it was engraved in nearly effaced letters, 
Gustav Blumenthal, Berlin, 1727,” and under- 
neath, in newer characters, C. B. 1868.” 

There, my vriend, you see how old this fiolin 
is,” he exclaimed, eagerly pointing with his grimy 
finger. ^^This faluable fiolin vos made in Berlin 
in 1727, more than von hundred years ago, by a 


264 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

vamous fiolin-maker, Gustav Blumenthal. This 
fiolin is von vamous Blumenthal. Look at it, my 
vriend, look at it.” 

Maurice could scarcely control his usually steady 
young nerves, as he turned the instrument and ex- 
amined it for the mark of the maker. Yes, there 
it was, the peculiar Guarnieri seal. It was the del 
Gesu, beyond a doubt. 

“Look at it veil, examine it,” urged the Jew. 
“ It is von vamous fiolin.” 

“ Oh, I’m afraid I’m not a judge,” said Maurice, 
putting the instrument down with an air of indif- 
ference. “I have a little friend who’s learning to 
play ; she wants a violin. I daresay it might suit 
her.” 

“ Buy it vor her, puy it ! ” interrupted the old 
man eagerly. “ I vill sell it sheap, vor nothing ; 
there, for nothing.” As he spoke he shrugged 
his shoulders, and spread out his hands, palms 
downward. 

“You don’t mean that you will give it to me?” 
laughed Maurice. 

“The same, my vriend, the same. Von French 
fiddler pledged it more than two year — two year 
and I hafe not seen my gute money. He borrowed 


MAURICE AND SHYLOCK. 


265 


vor von month, and now it’s more than two year, 
and I hafe not seen my gute money.” 

It would take too long to repeat in detail all 
the bargaining that took place between Maurice 
and Shylock. The finesse employed on both sides 
would furnish a chapter useful to a diplomat. 
However, for once, Shylock was hoisted by his 
own petard. Not knowing the real value of his 
property, he tried to give it a fictitious value by 
declaring that it was ^^von vamous Blumenthal 
of Berlin, made in 1727,” which date was probably 
the year when it came into the possession of Carl’s 
great-grandfather, Gustav Blumenthal. 

This undervaluation delighted Maurice, as it 
made it possible for him to purchase the violin. 
After something like an hour’s parleying, and when 
he had been induced to return at least a dozen 
times, he finally left with the Guarnieri, wrapped 
in greasy paper, under his arm, and a collapsed 
notebook in his pocket. Maurice got the violin, 
but Shylock got every dollar the boy had with 
him, and double the sum that he had loaned to 
Felix, the former owner. 


XXXIII. 


A LITTLE ROMANCE. 


ROFESSOR VORTMAN had been sitting with 



Madame Blumenthal for an hour or more, 
trying to impress upon her mind, already burdened 
with the same subject, the importance of Seraph’s 
studying abroad. I have carried her as far as I 
can,” he said candidly. I really can’t teach her 
any longer. She is going beyond me. Her tech- 
nique is excellent. Now, all she needs is style 
and finish, and that she can get only in a foreign 
school. My dear madame, it is of the utmost im- 
portance. Her future success depends upon it.” 

Yes, I know, I understand fully,” returned 
Louise piteously. But what can I do ? I have 
not the money to take her to Paris, and I am so 
helpless. If I were well, I might do something ; 
as it is, there is no possibility of my being able 
to earn it.” 

Certainly, madame, I understand your position. 
I see that you cannot accomplish it alone ; but 


266 


A LITTLE ROMANCE. 


267 


could not your friends — those interested in Made- 
moiselle — would not they assist in carrying out 
our plans ? 

‘^Oh, no! please don’t speak of that. I could 
not be indebted to charity for my child’s musical 
education 1 ” exclaimed the invalid tremulously. 

There is no one but Cousin Franz on whom I 
have any claim, and he is not able. I could not 
accept such a favor from a stranger.” 

Would you not accept a loan? It could be 
repaid later.” 

That would be worse than charity. I should 
not be honest if I borrowed money which I know 
I could never repay.” 

But your daughter could repay it herself,” 
urged the professor. She has a great future 
before her, and that means wealth. She will soon 
be able to earn money through her own eiforts.” 

could not have her begin life hampered with 
debt. It would be a cruelty to one of her proud, 
sensitive nature,” returned Louise decidedly. 

Then I can think of no means of assisting 
Mademoiselle to complete her studies,” said Pro- 
fessor Vortman a little impatiently, as he went 
away. 


268 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


A little later, Monsieur Nardi and the professor 
were closeted in earnest conversation, which ended 
by the old bookseller saying, ‘‘Eh hien, mon ami, 
you have done all you can. I wanted you to 
sound her a little ; I wanted to know how she 
would take it. Yes, she is proud, very proud. 
She is an honest, self-respecting little woman, and 
I think the more of her for it ; but I must try to 
make her feel that she must yield some of her 
pride for the child’s good as well as for her 
own.” 

Seraph had gone to take tea with Madame St. 
Maxent, and Louise was alone in the twilight, 
thinking very sadly of her interview with Professor 
Vortman, when Romeo knocked at her door, and 
told her that Monsieur Nardi was waiting to see 
her. “ Ah, I am so glad ; I need him just at this 
moment,” thought Louise. I can talk to him, 
and he will understand how hard it is for me.” 

When the old gentleman entered, one quick 
glance into the invalid’s tear-stained face told him 
that she was very unhappy and anxious. Poor 
child ; poor little woman,” he thought ; she must 
not be troubled any longer. I must take this 
matter in my own hands and settle it for her.” 


A LITTLE ROMANCE. 


269 


So he said cheerily, ''All alone? Seraph not 
here ? C'est hon ; I want to have a quiet, friendly 
talk with you, my child.” 

" How good you are,” exclaimed Louise, her 
face brightening, and a smile shining through her 
tears. "You must have known that I was in 
trouble and needed a friend. Professor Vortman 
has been here talking about our going abroad, and 
I am so worried, so perplexed.” 

" Yes, ma chere, yes ; but don’t let that worry 
you. I have arranged all that, and you have only 
to consent to go.” 

" But the money, cher ami. Where is the 
money to come from ? ” asked Louise, looking 
puzzled and frightened. Was her old friend los- 
ing his senses? 

" The money ? Oh, the money. Why, Seraph 
has the money. I! Onde ’Nidas made his will to- 
day, all regular, and legal, done before a notary, 
and left twenty thousand dollars to Mademoiselle 
Seraph Blumenthal and her heirs forever. She 
can’t inherit it until Leonidas Nardi dies, and 
that, I hope, will not be for some time. But 
V Onde ’Nidas has the care of her little fortune, 
and he will constitute himself her guardian, with 


270 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINISTE. 


her mother’s permission, of course, ‘ and this same 
Uncle ’Nidas has decided to send his ward to 
Paris, to the consei'vatoire, for two or three years, 
et voila tout'' 

Louise was too much surprised to find speech. 
She could only stare helplessly at the old book- 
seller, who was patting her hand and laughing 
softly. At length with a sob she cried, “ Dear 
friend ! Good, noble soul ! Ah, you crush me with 
your kindness, but I can’t take it ; I must not 
take it. We must not rob you in your old age.” 

Yes, that’s it. It’s just because I am old that 
I can do this. I have a nice little fortune, and I 
have not long to enjoy it. Some one must have 
it when I am done with it, and I have only these 
two children, just these two in the whole world to 
leave it to : Seraph and Marc. They are both 
very dear to me, and they are mine because I love 
them. Marc will have my name, a name I have 
tried not to disgrace, and he will succeed me in 
business, and a nice little amount of money beside. 
I have divided it pretty equally between the two; 
so, my dear friend, your child is fairly inde- 
pendent. Now I only w^ait your consent to go to 
Paris with Seraph. Professor Yortman leaves 


A LITTLE ROMANCE. 


271 


next month for a visit to Europe ; he will take 
charge of you, and Madame St. Maxent knows of 
an excellent woman to serve you. A French 
steamer, with good accommodations, sails for Havre 
from this port early next month. Feeling sure 
that you would agree to my wishes, I took the 
liberty to engage passage for you and Seraph and 
your maid.” 

Louise looked around the little room, at her 
familiar furniture, at her table covered with her 
pretty work, and covering her face with her hands 
she sobbed convulsively: ^^Oh, my friend — you 
are good ; you are angelic ; but it is like tear- 
ing me up by the roots. I am so lame and help- 
less. How can I leave my little room where I 
am so comfortable, so contented ? How can I give 
up everything to go so far from my only, my best 
friends ? ” 

A few tears crept into the corners of Monsieur 
Nardi’s eyes, but he brushed them quickly away, 
and said in the same light, cheerful tone: “ Soy ez 
tvcL'nquille, ma cliere ; calTYiez-vous. It will not be 
long, and you will return well and happy and find 
everything just as you leave it.” 

^‘How can that be? I cannot expect to keep 


272 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


this cottage/' returned Louise, wiping her eyes, 
and trying to regain her composure. 

Why not ? It is yours. Leonidas Nardi bought 
this cottage a few days ago, and to-day in his will 
he left it to you for your life, to go to Seraph if 
she survives you. Romeo will take care of it dur- 
ing your absence, and when you return, you will 
find your home ready for you.” 

I don’t understand, I can’t understand, how you 
can be so good to us, who are almost strangers to 
you,” said Louise, looking gratefully into the old 
bookseller’s gentle face. 

Something in the limpid, troubled depths of her 
eyes made him turn away from their gaze. Then 
he said softly, and almost solemnly : My child, 
let me tell you what made my heart tender toward 
you. I once had a great sorrow. I was a boy, a 
poor, homely boy, but I had a nature that craved 
affection, and I had no parents, no sisters, no one 
to fill my hungry heart. Ignorant and obscure 
though I was I dared to love one as far above me 
as heaven is above earth. She never knew I loved 
her, but she did not scorn my humble devotion ; 
she was my friend, and her goodness and purity 
ennobled me. 


A UTTLE ROMANCE. 


273 


For her I became ambitious. I studied, I 
toiled, I hoarded, to make myself worthy of her. 
One day I learned that she was to marry the man 
of her choice. Then, poor foolish boy that I was, 
I thought life was over for me. My sun seemed to 
have gone out at noon ; but I struggled out of the 
darkness and dared to live. The memory of her 
friendship, her kindness, made it possible. That 
was more than forty years ago. Since then for 
her sake I have loved all who suffer, and especially 
you, my child; for the woman I adored was your 
mother, the good and beautiful Marie Paulette.’' 


XXXIV. 


PREPAKATION. 

A S soon as it was known that through Mon- 
sieur Nardi’s generosity Seraph was enabled 
to go to Paris to complete her musical education, 
her friends were anxious to assist her in every way 
possible. 

For some time Madame St. Maxent and Maurice 
had been thinking of a plan by which they could 
give the little violiniste some substantial token of 
their admiration and good will, and they had 
decided to have, shortly before her departure, a 
soiree musicale for her benefit. 

Professor Vortman and Maurice entered heart 
and soul into the details. Professor Vortman was 
to accompany them, and for once Seraph was to 
appear before the public in a solo, and afterward 
in a duet with Maurice. Madame St. Maxent had 
engaged a celebrated singer to add the charm of 
vocal music, and altogether a delightful programme 
was arranged. 


PREPARA TION. 


275 


The days preceding the sailing of the steamer 
were busy days in the little cottage. There was 
so much to do, and so much to be thought of, that 
the poor little invalid was almost overwhelmed with 
the weight of her new responsibilities. In the 
emergency Cousin Franz, Madame Arnet, and Madge 
came forward with hearty good will, and did their 
share toward completing the arrangements. Cousin 
Rachel, with sensible forethought, made warm wool- 
len gowns for the invalid, and a thick cloak and 
hood for Seraph to wear in stormy weather on 
the deck of the ship ; Cousin Franz bought them 
comfortable deck chairs, and had a hamper packed 
with many little delicacies to tempt Louise’s feeble 
appetite ; and Madge made them each the handiest 
toilet-cases, fitted up neatly with all the necessary 
articles. Every one was interested and ready to do 
something to speed the voyagers on their way. 
Cressy and Romeo displayed much culinary skill in 
making cakes, bon-bons, and sugared fruits, in such 
large quantities that one would have thought the 
little party bound for a land where these tempting 
edibles were unknown ; and Marc spent all his spare 
time in going over books for girls in order to select 
those which he thought Seraph would like best. 


276 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

During these preparations, Monsieur Nardi found 
his days full of new duties, and sometimes his heart 
was very heavy at the thought of losing Seraph, for 
the dear little maid was the sunshine of his life; 
but he had Marc, and Marc was a great comfort 
to him. 

The boy was developing well. He had refined 
perceptions and intuitions, and such a retentive 
memory that he profited by all he heard and saw. 
Maurice St. Maxent was his heau ideal of boyish 
perfection ; therefore he tried to be as much like 
him as he possibly could, and Monsieur Nardi en- 
couraged him in all his little ambitions. A father 
was never more devoted to an only son than was 
the old bookseller to the son of his adoption. 
Their affection and admiration for each other 
seemed to equalize, in a manner, their years. 
Marc became more mature in order to reach up 
to his benefactor, and Uncle ’Nidas, in his happi- 
ness, was often boyishly bright and companionable. 

When Patsy saw them walking on the levee, 
side by side, as they often did, talking earnestly 
and intimately, he would say to himself in mute 
admiration, He is as fine a lad as if he had 
been born in a palace. Who would o’ thought 


PREPARA TION. 


277 


that a poor little kid like he was could o’ made 
hisself all over in a few years. I’m proud of him, 
that I am, an’ we’re jes’ as chummy as ever. He 
ain’t spoilt a bit ’cause he goes to school an’ 
wears good togs. I al’ays know’d he’d make a 
fine man, an’ be a credit to me.” 

Patsy felt a sort of ownership in Marc, seeing 
that he had been the guide and protector of his 
infancy, and had taught him the rudiments of 
the knowledge which was leading to such lofty 
results ; and he scarcely allowed a day to pass 
without congratulating the boy on his good fortune 
in finding such a friend as Monsieur Nardi, usually 
ending his kindly comments with the same little 
set phrase : I al’ays know’d you’d make a man, 
if you only had half a chance.” 

Not long before the soirh musicale, and just 
when Louise was debating in her mind what toi- 
lette would be suitable for the little violiniste to 
wear on the important occasion, Madame St. Max- 
ent called in her carriage and took Seraph away 
to Hortense, a fashionable modiste, the same Hor- 
tense who sold the silver jewel box that belonged 
to Lady Jane’s mother. 

Here is a little friend,” said Madame St. Max- 


278 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

ent pleasantly, when Hortense entered, all smiles 
and bows, for whom I want a white costume — 
all white — and the daintiest and prettiest that can 
be made. It must be a very simple and a very 
artistic creation. I’m sure you understand per- 
fectly, and know exactly what I wish.” 

^‘Will Mademoiselle please to remove her hat?” 
And Hortense stood off and examined Seraph criti- 
cally, who, under the close scrutiny, blushed a soft 
pink over all her delicate little face. 

Mademoiselle’s coloring is uncommon, but it 
is charming. Golden hair, brown eyes, and a 
clear, pale complexion ; but in the evening, with 
artificial light and a little excitement, she will 
be pink, as she is now. Well, we will select 
pure white chiffon, over a white surah slip, white 
silk stockings, and white shoes of gros grain 
silk.” 

I should think that would be charming,” said 
Madame St. Maxent approvingly. 

And would Madame like tiny buckles of rhine- 
stone on the shoes ? ” asked Hortense, walking 
around, and looking at Seraph from another point 
of view. 

Not the buckles, please, clih^e madame^' whis- 


PREPARA TION. 


279 

pered Seraph. “I know mamma would not like 
me to wear them.” 

Madame St. Maxent smiled indulgently. No, 
no buckles; plain white shoes, — not slippers, — 
tied with a tiny bow on the instep; and the 
frock is to be high, and the sleeves long, very 
simple and childlike.” 

Oui^ ouiy madame; I understand perfectly. 
Mademoiselle will be charming in the toilette I 
shall send her. It will be a dream, a perfect 
dream.” 

Then Madame St. Maxent walked apart with 
Hortense, and gave her some orders in a low 
voice : A costume du voyage, — frock, hat, and 

coat ; take the measure now, and send it with the 
white toilette. I wish the color to be brown. 
Select the material you think the most suitable ; 
but simple, very simple.” 

After Madame St. Maxent finished her business 
with Hortense, she took Seraph home with her, 
in order that she and Maurice might practise the 
duet for the soiree musicale. Professor Yortman 
was there to play an accompaniment, and after 
they had rehearsed each part over and over, until 
they played it without a fault, they lunched mer- 


28 o 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


rily in a corner of the gallery, and while they 
laughed and chatted over their fruit and ices, the 
soft wind, fragrant with roses and jasmine, fanned 
them, and happy birds fluttered among the flowers, 
singing as though life were all spring, and youth, 
and joy. 


XXXV. 


A SOIREE MUSICALE. 



HEN Seraph was dressed for the soiree musi- 


* * cole, in the dainty white costume that Madame 
St. Maxent had ordered for her, she looked like a 
lovely little fairy. The soft folds of chiffon clung 
to her slender figure like the silken down of a 
thistle ; her small, usually pale face was fiushed a 
tender pink, and her beautiful hair hung below her 
waist like a veil of spun gold. 

Madame Blumenthal was delighted with the 
delicate richness and refinement of Madame St. 
Maxent’s selection. It suited her artistic taste, 
and enhanced the beauty and grace of the child. 
Cressy and Romeo were as interested in Seraph’s 
appearance, as though they were to assist at the 
important function, and their expressions of ad- 
miration were original as well as forcible. Miss 
Seraph, honey, yer suttenly does look like yer jes’ 
wants wings ter fly away,” cried Romeo, clasping 
his gnarled old hands reverently. ^^I’s neber seed 


282 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


a live angel, or no oder angel, ter tell der trufe, 
'til jes’ dis yere rnin'it, an’ I neber s’pects ter see 
anuder ’til I’s done got ter heaben. Now, Miss 
Cressy, don’t yer ’gree wid me dat my lit’l’ Miss 
am a mighty lubely chile ? ” 

Yes, Romeo, yes, elle est cliarmantey And 
Cressy’s grim old face relaxed in a smile of com- 
plete satisfaction. She will do Monsieur Leonidas, 
and all of us, a great deal of credit.” 

Then Uncle ’Nidas had to be brought in to look 
at the little fairy. Tres hieii ; tres Men. It is 
wonderful. Ah, cherie, what can I say ? You are 
perfect, simply perfect.” And Monsieur Nardi’s 
happy face showed his pride and gratification. 

When he returned to his shop he remarked that 
there was only one thing lacking in the perfection 
of Seraph’s toilette, and he suggested to Marc that 
he ought to present his little friend with a bunch 
of flowers. The boy needed only a hint ; hasten- 
ing off to a fashionable florist, he soon returned 
with a cluster of lovely white rose-buds, which he 
presented to Seraph, blushing furiously. He was 
unaccustomed to the little amenities of life, but 
he took to them gracefully and naturally. 

Madame St. Maxent sent her carriage early for 


A SOIR&E MUSICALE. 


283 


the little party, so that Louise could be assisted 
in and comfortably seated before the other guests 
arrived. 

‘‘We are off at last,” cried Seraph joyfully, as 
the carriage turned into Rue Royale. “ I am so 
glad ; I want to be there ; I want to play. My 
fingers are impatient to begin. You will hear. 
Uncle ’Nidas, you will hear, maman, how well, 

how beautifully, I shall play. With all the flowers, 
and the lights, and the toilettes du soir, it will be 
like my old concerts, and I shall be just as happy 
as when I wore a train and played for Romeo, 
while he sat under the oleander and threw flowers 
to me when I finished.” 

When they arrived at Madame St. Maxent’s the 
children were wildly excited at the festive appear- 
ance of the beautiful house and grounds. 

“ Chinese lanterns among the trees and flowers ! ” 
cried Marc, thrusting his head out of the carriage 
window to get a better view. 

“ And the house is a blaze of light ; it looks like 
a palace of rose and yellow crystal ! ” exclaimed 
Seraph enraptured. 

“ Ah, it is like fairy-land ! ” said Louise. Some 
of the glamour of old days was upon her, and it 


284 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

seemed as if it were she, and not her child, who 
was to appear before an expectant audience. 

When they entered the great salon, whero they 
were received by Madame St. Maxent and Maurice, 
they glanced around a little timidly, almost be- 
wildered by the light, the color, the glitter, the 
perfume of flowers, spread and twined and fes- 
tooned over every available place ; the rich drapery, 
the pictures and rare ornaments, and Madame St. 
Maxent, herself, looking like a queen in a gown 
of yellow satin, her corsage and dark hair spar- 
kling with diamonds. 

Ah ! my dear friends,” she exclaimed, in her 
warm, cheery tones, I am so happy to receive you. 
Come to this comfortable corner. Here is an easy- 
chair placed expressly for our there petite invalid, 
and another, a chair of state, for mon ami, mon- 
sieur , the scholar ; and Marc, who will want to see 
his little friend to the best advantage, can take 
this chair on the other side of Madame Blumen- 
thal.” 

At that moment another group entered, — Cousin 
Franz, Madame Arnet, and Madge. Cousin Franz 
looked as prosperous and dignified as a minister 
who is winning popularity ought to. And Cousin 


A SOIREE AIUSICALE. 


285 

Rachel wore one of Hortense’s most artistic cos- 
tumes of mauve satin and black lace, while Madge 
was a picture of modesty and simplicity in a simple 
white frock, her little fawn-colored head as sleek 
and glossy as her mother’s gown. 

Madame St. Maxent met them with the same 
charming cordiality : Now, my friends, our little 
group is complete. Here are seats for you near 
our dear invalid ; I know you will enjoy being 
together. Very soon the rooms .will be crowded, 
and I may not be able to get near you. It is to 
be a great occasion,” she whispered to Cousin 
Franz. I have invited every one. I have in- 
terested all my friends. There are to be no tickets. 
You see, they all know it is a benefit for our dear 
little violiniste, and I leave it to the generosity 

of my guests to give what they please. I have 

placed a pretty basket, not too small, on that table 
near the door where Maurice’s tutor is sitting. 
Every one can deposit in it what he or she is 
willing to give. Ah ! I am sure when they hear 

the chhre petite play, they will all empty their 

pockets. I am expecting a perfect ovation.” 

Madame St. Maxent had given Seraph one 
admiring glance. She had been so occupied re- 


286 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


ceiving her guests that she had had no oppor- 
tunity to express her satisfaction with Hortense’s 
creation. Now she turned to the child, who was 
talking with Maurice, and said gaily, Ah ! made- 
moiselle, you are charming ! you are a dream ! I 
am satisfied. It is all perfect. Now, my young 
artists, you must go to the music-room before our 
other guests arrive. When every one is quietly 
seated, this curtain will be drawn,” she said, point- 
ing to the rich portiere which separated the music- 
room from the salon, and the music will begin. 
After the concert there will be an informal recep- 
tion and a little supper, et voila tout!' 

When Seraph and Maurice entered the music- 
room, they found Professor Vortman pacing the 
floor a little nervously. It was a very important 
occasion to him ; two of his most promising pupils 
were to play for the first time before an audience, 
and he was anxious for his own reputation, as 
well as for theirs, that they should acquit them- 
selves with distinction. 

Allow me to congratulate you, mademoiselle,” he 
said, with pleased surprise. When you appear before 
your audience, they will think they see Queen Titania.” 

Seraph smiled^ she did not know who Queen 


A SOIR&E MU SIC ALE. 28 J 

Titania was, but she felt that her master was 
pleased with her appearance. 

Yes, they will think they see Queen Titania, 
but they will know that they hear an angel,” 
returned Maurice, with boyish gallantry. “Now, 
Seraph, let us get our fiddles and see that they 
are in tune while we are waiting for the crowd 
to be seated. Just hear how they are rushing in ! 
What a hubbub a lot of people make! Mamma’s 
friends must have turned out in full force.” 

Near the piano was a platform, just high enough 
so that those at the far end of the salon could see 
the young violinists. It was covered with a rich 
rug, and ornamented with jars of growing palms, 
their dark, glossy foliage making a lovely back- 
ground for the slender white figure with its veil 
of golden hair. On the platform was a table 
draped with a silken cover, and at one corner 
stood a large Eastern jar filled with rare flowers ; 
near the jar lay Seraph’s violin. 

“ Come, mademoiselle,” said Maurice laughingly. 
“Allow me.” And taking Seraph by the finger- 
tips, he led her on to the little stage. 

Professor Vortman came forward, watching every 
movement eagerly. 


288 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINJSTE. 


‘‘How beautiful everything is!” Seraph ex- 
claimed, raising her happy eyes to Maurice, as 
she took the violin from the table. Before she 

had looked at it or fairly touched it, she felt its 
presence. With one bewildered glance she cried, 
“ This is papa’s violin ! this is the del Gesu ! 
Where did it come from ? How did it get here ? ” 
Maurice laughed a little to hide his emotion, and 
holding out his hand with boyish frankness, said, 
“ I am the good fairy who put it there. I searched 
for it, I found it, I bought it, and now I present it 
to Mademoiselle with my life-long devotion.” 

Seraph could not speak. She could not thank 
him with words, and she did not wish him to see 
the tears that started to her eyes ; tears of mingled 
joy and gratitude. Holding the violin in her arms, 
she turned away her tremulous face, trying hard 
to recover her composure. When she had suc- 
ceeded, she said sweetly and simply : 

“ This makes me perfectly happy. My heart is 
too full to thank you now, Maurice, but when I 
play the allegro in my solo, you will know how 
glad I am to have my dear violin again.” 

A half-hour later, when the large audience was 
seated and the murmur of voices had softened to 


A SOIREE MUSICALE. 


289 


expectant whispers, the curtain was drawn aside, 
and Professor Vortman played a selection from 
Liszt with great success. Then Madame Estres 
sang a new song, and afterward the little violiniste 
appeared amid deafening applause. 

Madame St. Maxent’s guests thought they had 
never seen a prettier picture than she made when 
Maurice led her on to the stage, and they certainly 
had never listened to more delicious strains than 
the child drew from the wonderful instrument. 
When she came to the allegro in her solo, she 
pressed her little inspired face closer to the violin, 
which fairly throbbed with joy. It was like exul- 
tant heavenly voices, a whole choir of child angels 
singing songs of praise and thanksgiving. 

Maurice understood it, and felt the child’s grati- 
tude to be stronger than words could express, and 
the- audience listened spell-bound. As the last ten- 
der, delicate strain died away, the violin slipped from 
her shoulder, the bow hung loosely in her fingers, 
while she glanced around like one just awakened 
from a delightful dream, her eyes wide and full of 
light, and her lips smiling tremulously. Then bowing 
timidly and gracefully, she took Maurice’s hand and 
turned away amid an enthusiastic burst of. applause, 
u 


290 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


There was another selection by Professor Vort- 
man, and then more singing, and by that time the 
audience was impatient for the violin duet by 
Seraph and Maurice, which was played exquisitely, 
in perfect harmony, and with much delicacy of 
expression. 

Madame St. Maxent was delighted, and her guests 
were wildly enthusiastic over the little violiniste. 

What genius ! what feeling ! what vigor ! what a 
touch. It is remarkable ! wonderful — angelic ! ” was 
heard on every side. It was an unheard-of suc- 
cess, a perfect ovation, and every one present 
wished to congratulate and compliment the child, 
who received the pretty things that were said to 
her modestly and unaffectedly. Her little heart 
was so full of strong and sweet emotions that 
she had no room for vanity and self-satisfaction. 

The soiree musicale was a success in many ways. 
The tutor who sat near the basket, already gener- 
ously full of crisp bank notes, noticed that many 
of those who had given when they entered, re- 
turned to make an additional offering. 

Madame St. Maxent was much pleased at the 
success of her plan, and the next day when she 
placed a great roll of notes in Louise’s hand, she 


A SOIR&E MUSICALE. 


291 


said, as if the money were a matter of no conse- 
quence: “A nice little sum to help Seraph through, 
but it is the smallest part of the success. She made 
a reputation last night that will last, and when she 
returns, people will throng to hear her play. I am 
satisfied, and so is Professor Vortman. He says her 
future success is assured, and that is all we can ask.” 

A few days after the soiree miisicale a sad-faced 
little group stood on one of the wharves watching 
a great ocean steamer pull out into the river. 
They had come to. say good-by to Madame Blu- 
menthal and Seraph, who sat on the deck beside 
Professor Yortman, looking with tearful eyes toward 
the shore. 

Poor Louise looked pale and dejected. She 
dreaded going out into the great unknown, and 
her heart lingered in her little home, and clung to 
those she loved and was leaving. And Seraph 
was trying to appear bright and happy as she 
waved her handkerchief and called au revoir as 
long as her sweet voice could reach their ears. 

Parting is bitter sorrow,” said Madame St. 
Maxent, a little dolefully, but I always comfort 
myself with the thought of meeting again.” 


292 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


‘^And that will be before long,” remarked 
Maurice, his eyes following the ship. You said 
this morning that we should be in Paris in a few 
months.” 

Yes, that is my intention now,” replied Madame 
St. Maxent, ^^and I should not wonder if we spent 
the next two or three years abroad.” 

It is my intention to take another trip next 
year,” said Monsieur Nardi, trying to look cheer- 
ful ; I shall need to add to my collection by that 
time.” 

Well, may go too,” observed Madame Arnet, 
looking at Cousin Franz. Mr. Arnet’s father has 
invited us to visit him, and I think it would be 
very pleasant to see Paris while Cousin Louise and 
Seraph are there.” 

^^Yes, it would be very pleasant,” returned 
Cousin Franz, and I should like to see the 
fatherland again.” 

Presently the little group separated, for the faces 
peering over the rail of the steamer were becoming 
indistinct blots, and each one went his way sadly, 
only Monsieur Nardi and Marc remaining until 
the last trace of the steamer had disappeared 
around the bend in the river. 


XXXVI. 


A LETTER FROM PARIS. 


ONSIEUR NARDI had just received a letter 



from Paris, from Madame Blumenthal, and 
Madge had come in to hear the news. 

Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman, rubbing 
his hands gleefully. They are already on their 
way, and they ought to be here about the first of 
next month. You see they had to come by the 
way of New York, because Madame St. Maxent 
and Maurice won’t travel by our line of steamers. 
They’re slow, too slow, and it is very nice for 
Louise and Seraph to travel in their company.” 

And is Cousin Louise still improving ? ” asked 
Madge. 

Oh yes, she improves every day. When I left 
Paris — let me see — that’s more than a year ago — ” 
''Yes,” said Madge; "it is a year and a half, 
for we returned just before you did.” 

"Well, I suppose it is. I can’t keep up with 
Time. He has wings, and I have only feet, and it 


293 


294 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


is hard to make myself believe that they have been 
gone three years. However, as I was saying, when 
I left Paris, Louise was just beginning to stand 
without any support. Poor little woman! how de- 
lighted she was when she could take a few steps. 
Seraph on one side and I on the other. Now she 
can walk short distances without help. The cure 
is slow, very slow, but Doctor Duplan says she will 
be perfectly well in a year or so.” 

Just then Marc came in, — a tall, pleasant-faced 
lad, who blushed and looked a little shy when he 
greeted Madge. They had become fast friends 
during Seraph’s absence, and as Madge bought 
her books and stationery at Monsieur Nardi’s shop, 
they saw each other frequently. And sometimes 
Marc came to take tea with them, and talk books 
with Cousin Franz, who had taken a great interest 
in the bright, clever boy; while Madge, who was 
growing up a nice, intelligent girl, sat near and lis- 
tened attentively. The six months she had passed in 
Europe, the greater part of the time being spent in 
Germany, gave her a new interest in the language, 
and she now bids fair to make as good a scholar 
as Cousin Franz predicted she would before she took 
it into her stubborn little head to be a modiste. 


A LETTER FROM PARIS. 


^95 


After Madge had talked a few moments with 
Marc, .she turned to Monsieur Nardi, and said, in 
a very satisfied voice, Oh ! but I have some good 
news to tell you. Papa’s congregation have de- 
cided to build him a handsome new church ; and 
it’s to be on a fashionable street. You know so 
many rich people have come in that we are not 
as poor as we once were, and the old church is 
far too small for our congregation.” 

Ah ! that does not surprise me,” returned Mon- 
sieur Nardi, his good old face reflecting Madge’s 
satisfaction. I knew it would come soon. Recog- 
nition and appreciation are sure to follow talent 
and industry. Yes, yes, I knew it would come.” 

Papa certainly does deserve his popularity j he 
works so hard, and is so good and conscientious,” 
said Madge proudly. I don’t think his people 
can do too much for him.” Then she turned again 
to the subject of the letter. ^^Well, I suppose 
Seraph has received her diploma and medal from 
the Conservatoire, and is now a full-fledged pro- 
fessor of the violin.” 

Yes, indeed, she has,” replied Monsieur Nardi, 
with the greatest satisfaction, and she is the 
youngest pupil who has ever received such marks 


296 


SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 


of distinction. Professor Vortman wrote me of a 
soiree musicale given by Madame St. Maxent, when 
the most distinguished people in the American 
colony, as well as many of the French and English 
aristocracy, with a number of famous composers 
and professors, heard her play, and she had a great 
success, a great success. They were enthusiastic 
about her, and predicted the most brilliant career 
for her. Ah ! she is a lovely, talented child. How 
can we expect to keep such a rare creature in 
this obscure little cottage?” 

By the way,” laughed Madge, have the work- 
men completed the renovation of the ^ obscure little 
cottage ' ? If they have, and you do not object, 
mamma and I would like to superintend putting 
it in order. You know women understand the 
needs of women so much better than men do.” 

Thank you, my dear ; that is kind and 
thoughtful of you. Marc and I have done the 
best we could ; but you and your mother will 
understand just how Louise and the child will like 
to find things. I want it all to be just as they 
left it, as far as it is possible. It will seem more 
like coming home. Step into the garden and see 
what has been done there. Romeo and Cressy 


A LETTER FROM PARIS. 


297 

are especially interested in that department, and 
they are very proud of the improvements.” 

Why really, it is lovely!” cried Madge. You 
have made this little wilderness blossom like the 
rose, and the court is charming. How happy 
Cousin Louise and Seraph will be when they 
return 1 ” 

Do you think they will be happy, ma chere f 
Oh, I hope they will. Yes, I hope they will. I 
don’t mind telling you, my child, because I am 
sure you are discreet, but I shouldn’t want them 
to know. Lately, I have worried a great deal for 
fear Seraph will be discontented and unhappy in 
this quiet place after living so long in Paris.” 

Don’t be afraid of that, dear Uncle ’Nidas.” 
He was uncle, now, to Madge, as well as to all 
the others. If you have that idea, you don’t 
know Seraph as well as I do. In all her letters 
she says she loves her little home better than any 
spot on earth. She is a sweet, sincere girl, and 
you must remember that she is sixteen, and quite 
old enough to know her own mind. I know she 
loves her friends dearly, and you the best of all.” 

Thank you, my dear, thank you,” returned 
the old gentleman, with a tremor in his voice. 


298 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 

Yes, I’m sure the child loves me, but she is so 
beautiful and talented that I cannot expect to 
keep her always. She will be known. She will 
be famous. Genius cannot be hidden. It is the 
light of the earth. It belongs to humanity, to 
one’s country, to the world.” 


IV . A. IViid/-' Co.^ Publishers. 



BOVE THE RANGE. A Story for Girls. 
Theodora R. JENNESS. 315 pp. Illustrated. Cloth. 
$1.25. 


By 

i2mo. 


An Indian story for girls. A mission school for the daughters of the Dakota tribes 
IS most interestingly described. The strange ideas and beliefs of these wild people are 
woven into the thread of the story, which tells how a little white girl was brought up as 
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^ERAPH, THE LITTLE VLOLINLSTE. By Mrs. C. 

^ V. Jamison. 298 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 


A most charming and delightful story of a little girl who had inherited a most re- 
markable musical talent, which found its natural expression through the medium of the 
violin. The picturesqueness of Mrs. Jamison’s stories is remarkable, and the reader 
unconsciously becomes Seraph’s friend and sympathizer in all her trials and triumphs. 



RCUTT GIRLS; or., Ofie Term at the Academy. 

Charlotte M. Vaile. 316 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, ^1.50. 


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Mrs. Vaile gives us a story here which will become famous as a description of phase 
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M- 


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A Neighborhood Story. By Ellen Doug- 
341 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 


A most attractive and interesting story by a writer who has won a vast audience of 
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AH V PETTY’S TWINS. 

With 12 illustrations. ii6pp. 


By E. M. Waterworth. 
Cloth, 75 cents. 


A quaint little story of a girl — a little girl' — who had a propensity for getting into 
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r HE MOONSTONE RING. By Jennie Chappell. 
With 6 full-page illustrations. ii6pp. Cloth, 75 cents. 

An old ring plays an important part in this charming little story. It brings together 
a spoiled child, the granddaughter of a rich and indulgent old lady, and a happy little 
family of three, who, though poor, are contented with their lot. This acquaintance 
proves to be of mutual advantage. 


r HE MAIUORIE POOPS. 6 vols. Edited by Lucy 

Wheelock. About 200 illustrations. Price of set, ^1.50. 


A new set of books for the little ones, better, if possible, than even Pot’s Library, 
which has been so popular. Full of pictures, short stories, and bits of poetry. 


Boston : IV. A. Wilde dr* Co., 2y Bromfield Street. 


W. A. IVi/de dr’ Co.^ Publishers. 


WAR OF THE REVOLUTION SERIES. 

By Everett T. Tomlinson. 

r HREE COLONIAL BOYS. A Story of the Times 

368 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, ^1.50. 

It is a story of three boys who were drawn into the events of the times; is patriotic, 
exciting, clean, and healthful, and instructs without appearing to. The heroes are 
manly boys, and no objectionable language or character is introduced. The lessons of 
courage and patriotism especially will be appreciated in this day. — Boston Franscript. 

r HREE YOUNG CONTLNENTALS. A Story of the 

Atnerican Revolution. 364 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.^0. 

The second volume of the IVar 0/ the Revolution Series gives a vivid and accurate 
picture of, and the part which our “ Three Colonial Boys ” took in, the events which led 
up to the “ Battle of Long Island,” which was thought at the time to be a crushing defeat 
for the Continental Army, but which in fact was the means of arousing the Colonies to 
more determined effort. 

%*OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARA TION. 


TRAVEL ADVENTURE SERIES. 

By Col. Thos. W. Knox. 

/ N WLLD AFRLCA. Adventures of Two Boys in the 

Sahara Desert. 325 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, ^1.50. 

This story is a fascinating and instructive one, and we cheerfully commend the book 
to parents and teachers who have the responsibility of choosing the reading for young 
readers. — The Religious Telescope, Dayton. 



HE LAND OB' THE KANGAROO. Adventures of 

Two Boys in the Great Island Cotitinent. 318 pp. Illustrated. 
Cloth, $1.50. 


The late Col. Thos. W. Knox was a famous traveler and writer of boys’ books of 
travel and adventure. His last book (finished only ten days before his sudden death) 
describes a portion of the world in which he took a \ast interest, and of which little is 
known in this country. Australia, the great island continent, the land of the kangaroo, 
and a country of contradictions, is most interestingly described. 


*,^*OTHER VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES ANNOUNCED LA TER. 



UARTERDECK 6^ EOKBLE. By Molly Elliot 

Seawell, author of “Decatur and Somers,” etc. 272 pp. 
Illustrated. $1.25. 


Miss Seawell is exceptionally gifted in the line of instructing and amusing young 
people at the same time, and many a boy pricks up his ears at the sound of her name, in 
the hope of another of her lively, and at the same time instructive and high-spirited 
volumes. This one will sustain her reputation well, and will be read with eager 
interest. — Congregationalist, Boston. 


Boston : IV. A. Wilde Sp Co., 2y Brom field Street. 


IV. A. Wilde < 3 ^ Cfl.^ Publisher.^. 


BRAIN AND BRAWN SERIES. 

By William Drysdale. 

YOUNG REPORTER . A Story of Printing 

House Square. 298 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, J^i.50. 

If all boys are as interested in this book as the particular boy in our own family, it is the 
success of the season. Dick, the hero, is a splendid fellow, who works his way up from 
reporting small matters to a high position as an author and journalist. It teaches 
lessons of industry, fidelity, and temperance. — Library Bulletin., New York. 

r HE EAST MAIL. The Story of a Train Boy. 328 pp. 

Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

The birthright of every American boy is the expectation that he might some- 
time become President of the United States. Bert Walker did not aspire as high 
as this, but he had the determination, pluck, and common sense which enabled 
him to be a successful train boy and a railroad man. Any boy can make as much of a 
success of himself as Bert Walker did, and “ The Fast Mail ’’ will be an inspiration of 
the right kind to thousands of boys who are just starting out in life. 

*^*OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARA TION. 


FIGHTING FOR THE FLAG SERIES. 


By Chas. Ledyard Norton. 



A CK BENS ON'' S LOG ; or., Afloat with the Flag in ’6 1 . 

276 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 


An unusually interesting historical story, and one that will arouse the loyal impulses 
of every American boy or girl. The story is distinctly superior to anything ever 
attempted along this line before. — The Independent. 



MEDAL OE HONOR MAN; or., Cruising among 

Blockade Runners. 280 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, ^1.25. 


This second of Fighting for the Flag books takes Jack into a series of exciting 
adventures along the Florida Sounds. He interviews the famous Alabama in a night 
chase down the coast, and finally is decorated by his captain with the Navy Medal of 
Honor. 

\*OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARA TION. 


r HE MYST ERIO US VOYAGE OE THE 
DAPHNE. By Lieut. H. P. Whitmarsh, R. N., and others. 
305 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, j^i.25. 

This volume, mechanically beautiful as to type and paper, is an unusually good col- 
lection of short stories, and is well and freely illustrated. Lieutenant Whitmarsh con- 
tributed two unique sea stories, which are instructive as well as very interesting. Others 
are by the best-known writers for young people in the country. — Epworth Herald^ 
Chicago. 


Boston: W. A. Wilde Sp Co.., 2y Broinfield Street. 


IV. A. IVilde Co., Publishers. 


T^OREMAN JENNIE. A Young Woman of Business. 
JO By Amos R. Wells, editor of The Golden Rule. A new edition. 
268 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, ^1.25. 

This is a book for those who are called the “working people.” No people of 
earth have a better right to be proud of their place and name. All good people will hail 
the book and wish for more like it. — Cottventioii Teacher, Nashville. 

C AE’N THISTLETOP. By Sophie Swett, author of 

“Mate of the Mary Ann,” etc. 266 pp. Illustrated. ^1.25. 

This claims to be a girls’ book, but the boy who does not take it all in, and then wish 
for more, must be a very queer kind of a boy. Of course the girls will like it; isn’t it 
written for them? — Presbyterian Journal, Philadelphia. 



IG CYPRESS. By Kirk Munroe, author of “Fur 
Seal’s Tooth,” “ Camp-mates,” etc. 164 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, 


>1.00. 


The story is so fascinating that it will hold the absorbed attention of every boy and 
girl reader to the end. — Boston Transcript. 

A bright, wide-awake book, as interesting and helpful for girls as for boys. — 
Golden Rule. 



HILIP LEICESTER. 

of “ Freshman and Senior,” 

$1.25. 


By Jessie E. Wright, author 
etc. 264 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, 


The real motive of the story is a lesson for mothers, — that God will be with the 
children of love and prayer, even though they may be passing through the fires of temp- 
tation and bad influence. — The Evangelist, New York. 


CT^IIE BEACON LIGHT SERIES. 5 vols. Edited 

JL by Natalie L. Rice. Illustrated. Each book, 96 pp. Cloth. 
Price of set, ^2.50. 

A collection of bright, attractive stories from the best-known writers for young 
people in the Junior and Intermediate classes. 



OT’S LIBRAR Y. 10 vols. Edited by Lucy Whee- 

LOCK. 400 illustrations. Price of set, $2.^0. 


Without question the most delightful set of books for little ones. Over 400 illus- 
trations. 


P ELOUBETS SELECT NOTES. By F. N. Pelou- 

BET, D. D., and M. A. Peloubet. A Commentary on the Inter- 
national Sunday-School Lessons. Illustrated. 340 pp. Cloth, 
$1.25. 


w 


A YS OF WORKING; or, Helpful Hints to Sunday- 


School Workers of all Kinds. 
D. D. 216 pp. Cloth, $1.00. 


By Rev. A. F. Schauffler, 


it 


Boston: W. A. Wilde Co., 2y Bromfield Street. 














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